


Silver N' Gold

by KittenzCaboodle



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, AU - Cars have tires, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Feels, First Meetings, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mid-Recall, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Multiple Pairings, Pre-Recall, Relationship(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, TBA to avoid spoilers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 214,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenzCaboodle/pseuds/KittenzCaboodle
Summary: Some things just pair up perfectly.The sun and the moon.Stars and the night sky.Thunder and lightning.Some things are just meant to be.Even a bounty hunter cowboy and a lone wolf mercenary who discover how two loners can help each other be a little bit less lonely and how good life can actually be when you have the right person by your side to help change it for the better.Some things just go together.Like Silver N’ Gold.





	1. Ten Thousand Feet in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in over a year. I had to take a break for personal reasons. But now I'm trying to take up creative writing again. Wish me luck!
> 
> Constructive criticisms are more than welcome. Please tell me what you think or if something needs to be cleared up. I am my own beta, so any feedback is appreciated. Please be kind though. It is just fiction I am writing for fun. 
> 
> Tags will be added as the story progresses. I will make note of new tags I add at the top of every chapter (here) so no one gets surprised by what comes up. I'll also mark any thing that might bother someone that they'd like to know about and how bad it'll be. It'll go like this:
> 
> Potential triggers:  
> *Sexually assault mentions (nothing graphic, and nothing happens. There's just talk of it. Just guys being dicks)  
> *Racism (Same guys being dicks)  
> [This is for real for the chapter tho, heads up].  
> If there is a skippable part of the fic, rather than integrated throughout, like a sex scene as opposed to a throwaway line, I'll give you a way to skip. Like this *** marks the beginning and this ***** marks the end and you can ctrl-f your way past. I'll give you the marks to watch out for when applicable.
> 
> Thanks for checking my fic out! I hope you enjoy it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 1 (Joker, Okami, and Those Other Guys), 2 (Rende-Roof) and 3 (Ten Thousand Feet in the Air) have been combined.

The line between man and animal should be one clear as day, but as Jesse McCree took stock in the makeshift crew he was surrounded by, he wasn’t so sure the differences were that easy to spot.  What made a fella’ any different from a critter if they both lived with such a beastly, blood-thirsty nature?

The men here all did their job of protecting the old factory well, yes, but they seemed to enjoy the killing aspect far too much.  They went out of their way to soak themselves in others’ blood and live for the chaos.  Not even the coyotes, the ones McCree heard singing long into the desert night, did that.  The men here were no better than goddamn coyotes.  And in many ways, they were far worse than any wild dog could ever be.

Sure, the group’s job here did involve taking out a gang that was threatening their temporary boss’s turf and deliveries.  And, yeah, gang members were dangerous folk and the world would be better without most of them.  But they were still goddamn people in the end.  Those were still goddamn people that the men here were slaughtering like they were cattle.  Their job here had been to drive them off by whatever means necessary.  It never should have become this bloodbath.  Ever.

These men, if they could be called men, he fought alongside were the ones that made McCree question what separates man from animal if they both acted like monsters.

The last guy on the crew seemed to be the only other sane person here.  A sniper that fought with a bow, though, in the past, McCree had seen him grab and wield guns in a pinch.  His aim was spot-on, with no wasted shots, and he never took any more lives than necessary.  A sniper, especially as a sniper as skilled as him, could mow down people and claim that, from his vantage point, every kill was necessary.  This guy didn’t do that.  When a fight was over he let those left run to see another day.  It was refreshing.  It gave McCree hope that he hadn’t fallen too low yet, not if people could still do their jobs and be human about it.

The sniper went by the name Okami.  He always had, at least on the jobs in the past that he and McCree had worked together on.  Their working togethers was approaching double-digits, if it hadn’t already crossed that threshold.  A dozen or odd times working together and McCree had never heard Okami utter a word.  

He shrugged, nodded, or shook his head when spoken to directly, so it wasn’t that he didn’t understand everything that was going on around him.  McCree just chalked it up to either him being the shyest wallflower in the world, which was about as likely as McCree sprouting wings out of his head and doing aerial loop-de-loops up into heaven, or he just didn’t have a voice capable of making words.  Not everyone did and it was fine.  It didn’t affect his work at all, he was still as efficient as ever.  Okami was a living example of someone being both silent and deadly, and being very good at both.

Okami was the only thing that had kept McCree from running off in the middle of the night.  He wasn’t going to leave the other man here with this homicidal crew.  He’d never have forgiven himself if he found out that something had happened to Okami because he left him on his own.  

Those punkass bitches had been harassing Okami since day one,  McCree was worried that they were going to stop squealing about what they wanted to do to him and just up and do it.  He had no idea how Okami was putting up with it.  He must be biding his time for _something,_ though, otherwise none of these fellas would still be standing.  In these parts, common decency was a myth and chivalry was dead.   

All that shit that they were pulling on and off the field was exactly why McCree didn’t dare leave Okami alone.  There was no reason for him to white knight though.  He knew the only reason he did was because it was in his nature and not because he thought that Okami couldn’t handle himself.  He’d never think that.  The animals here talked shit, but they never touched him.  They knew that they would perish by his hand if they did.  

Okami was ripped as hell, as far as McCree could tell, and he was more than capable to hold his own in a fight, a fact McCree had seen happen many times.  He seemed more than willing to start a’brawlin’ too, from the fire he had seen light up in Okami’s eyes whenever one of these bastards flung shit his way.  Given fair circumstances, Okami would win in a fight against these monkeys easily; McCree had fought alongside him enough times to know that.  Okami could rip every single person here to shreds if the whim struck, that much was obvious.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could handle himself in a fair fight, but there was no doubt in his mind that if these fellas were going to pull something, they were going to use every dirty trick in the book to make sure they got what they wanted.  And what they wanted was to dominate Okami and leave him raw and broken. 

McCree wasn’t going to let that happen, not in a hundred years.  He had Okami’s back even if the man didn’t realize it.  McCree would say that he was willing to go to hell and back for the man, but considering that they were essentially in a kind of hell already here, it didn’t need to be said.  Despite their short history together, and as much as McCree had grown fond of the guy and his still-standing morals, there was much that he still didn’t know about Okami.  All he knew about him for sure was what he could see, because everything else was just something he had assumed about the guy and didn’t know if he was right or not.

And what he could see still wasn’t much of anything, and that wasn’t just because Okami was the second-shortest mercenary here.  The man was damn near covered up from head to toe, with only the upper half of his face and one arm exposed.  A soft-fabric mask covered the lower-half of Okami’s face, affixed to the metallic face guard that skated along his jawline.  There was armor decorating his torso.  That armor went down to his hips with the only gaps in the armor’s plating for flexibility’s sake. A dark, sturdy pair of pants covered his legs, and that was tucked into a metal pair of boots that went high enough to cover his lower legs up to his knees. His right arm was bare save for a small tattoo on his shoulder, one of two white dragons forming a circle together, as well as a guard that was on his lower arm.  His left shoulder was covered by a part of the chest armor, and his left arm was covered by an armored sleeve that had a hypnotizing orange swirled over a grey-blue pattern. There were also orange cords he kept slung around his hips, though McCree wasn’t sure what they were for.  It was doubtful that orange was the color of the season and he was just making a fashion statement.  

There was a level of curiosity that burned at McCree’s brain when he looked Okami over.  There was so much that he wanted to know about this guy.  Wasn’t like he could just ask him, though, he wouldn’t get an answer that way.  And it wasn’t like McCree was dressed any better for this desert heat.  His own get-up consisted of a heavy pair of nice slacks, way too many long-sleeved shirts, and a weighty cape thrown over his arm to keep his prosthetic mostly out of sight.  Couple that with his typical chest armor he was wearing under all the shirts and he was baking alive in this sun.  The only plus side to this outfit was that it did its job of protecting him and keeping his identity safe.  

He’d been called Mystery Man more times than he could count, people said it both in jest and in a loss for any other name, but as long as no one pegged him as Jesse McCree, they could call him Mystery Man all they wanted.  He used Joker as his codename, it had been an old nickname Gabe had given him back in Blackwatch, but didn’t really care what people called him as long as it wasn’t his real name.  Mystery Man, Joker, Hey you, it was all the same to him.

At least the sun was starting to set.  That would cool this desert down fast.  The heat would be less severe and easier to bear, even with sitting by the fire their dinner was cooking on.  It’d be a relief for him and there was no doubt that it would feel better for Okami too.  He had to be warm under all that armor and cover-ups.  His eyes roved over Okami as another dark thought crossed his mind.  Maybe that was another reason that they wanted to shred him down to pieces.  So they didn’t just strip him of his pride and confidence, but also to strip him of his clothes and see what he looked like under the get-up against his will.  They wanted to break him in whatever way possible, however they could.  Jesse wouldn't let it happen.

“Hey, Joker, we all know that O’s a tight lil’ piece of ass, but you gotta’ stop fucking him with your eyes.” Weasel said.  “Rub one out later, a’ight?  Wait til’ you can get a room.”

“Hey, Okami, you hear that?” Lugnut said, getting the other’s attention, “Joker wants your shaft.”

McCree stiffened at the insinuation, tugging awkwardly at the scarf around mouth. Between being suddenly dragged back into this hellish conversation and the million layers of clothing his mysterious ass was wearing, he suddenly felt very warm, patting his eye mask and making sure it wasn't slipping down his slickened cheeks. “That ain't at all-”

Okami was staring at him now, looking him over with that damn tilt of his head.  Okami reached behind him slowly, and McCree flinched.  He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and held it out to McCree.

McCree couldn't help the confused look on his face as he eyed the arrow in Okami’s hand.  Was this a threat?  Why an arrow?  He hadn’t said nothing about attacking the man, that had all been the other guys.  He shouldn’t be getting a threat because of it.

Of course, there was always the chance that McCree was overthinking this.  The others seemed to still think that Okami was a couple feet short of getting over the language barrier, if their poorly stifled laughter was anything to go by, though McCree knew better.  Okami was always on top of everything and was always two steps ahead of everyone else as far as McCree could tell.  

He knew Okami probably understood everything everyone was saying all too well.  He had to understand that McCree wasn’t fucking him with his eyes.  Okami looked like a gorgeous man, but McCree was a gentleman, at least as much of a gentleman as he could be in these parts.  He would never bother a fella’ against their wishes like that, even if they were as hot as hell.  That wasn't the kind of man he was.  That was the kind of man he would rather die than become.

Okami had to realize that, right?  McCree was on  _his_ side.

Maybe this wasn’t a threat.  McCree could just be looking for something that wasn’t there.  Oh, wait.  

An arrow.  A arrow had a shaft.  Okami _had_ just given him his shaft.  

Ha.  Oh, wow.  That was… actually kind of funny.

If he hadn’t been getting stared at by the others, then McCree would have damn near burst out laughing in relief.  Okami did realize that McCree was on his side. He did trust him.  He trusted him enough to make a sly lil’ joke for no reason other than because he could.  He hadn’t expected Okami to have a dirty sense of humor, and he found he was happy to be surprised.

The man seemed to notice when the joke clicked for McCree, quietly tucking the arrow back in his bag and gave McCree a small nod as he rubbed at the back of his head, his fingers skimming over the peach fuzz of his undercut.  If McCree had to guess, he would had said that there had actually been a small smile underneath Okami’s mask.  He couldn’t help but return it under his scarf, awkwardly tucking a long strand of hair back behind his ear. Okami was clearly enjoying his small joke, reminding McCree of a wolf that was having a sudden tail-waggingly good time playing fetch. It was cute, but you still knew that sharp fangs could come out at any minute.  Let him have his minute of fun.  With the hell he had been putting up with, he had earned it.

McCree stirred at the beans and bacon on the fire, trying to draw attention away from the their moment.  The sudden silence had caught the other’s attention and he wanted to redirect it.  This was his and Okami’s moment to have alone, dammit, and he wanted to keep it that way.  “Seems like dinner’s ready.  Hope y’all are ready to eat.”

McCree served himself a bowl and sat down on spot in the desert he had claimed as his seat.  Idly, he watched the others serve themselves, wondering what they were all still doing out here.  Usually dinner didn’t have everyone here at once; Okami was usually the first one in, grabbing a bowl of something from the kitchen, and the first one out.  Others straggled in later, complaining how either the food was cold if the fire went out or that the food was burned if McCree kept the fire going.  He’d long since given up on making anyone but himself and Okami happy when it came to food.  When it came to anything, really.  Everyone out here eating at the same time?  That was odd.  Around here, something being odd was usually a cause for concern.

Okami filled up his bowl and stood, turning to leave, as per usual, when Weasel spoke.  “You know, Okami, I get the feeling that you don’t like us.” he said, continuing when Okami looked at him with that damn tilted head of confusion.  “Ya’ haven’t eaten one damn meal with any of us, have you?  Not sure if I can trust a man to have my back if he won’t even look me in the face.”

Okami slowly turned around to look at Weasel, daring the man to continue with whatever his point was.

“Where’s the team camaraderie if you’re always running off like that?” he continued, patting the ground next to him.  “We ain’t gonna bite you.  Well, not yet at least.  Pop a squat and dig in.  We’re all _friends_ here.  Sit and stay, dog.”

Tilting his head in thought as he looked the group over, he decided to entertain the request, though McCree wasn’t sure why.  Okami slowly took a seat once more, though he opted to sit back down where he had been, at the edge of the group, closest to Jesse.  McCree would have felt flattered by Okami sitting next to him, but when the choices were three men who wanted your ass or the one fella’ on your side, your choices were a bit limited.  McCree grit his teeth when he saw Weasel scoot half a foot closer to Okami.

McCree saw Cloudburst move in closer as well. His jaw tightened even more.

He raked his eyes across the scene, trying to figure out what they would get out of Okami staying put.  The team camaraderie excuse was bullshit, McCree knew that those three wouldn't give a damn about it.  Stuff like that didn't matter, not to them, and they were all out of here tomorrow morning.  What was their game?  Studying their intense gazes, the way their eyes were locked onto Okami, he think he figured it out.

They were trying to see Okami without his mask.  Okami had yet to ever take his mask off in front of anyone, on or off the field, and as someone running around with a scarf covering up his identity, McCree could respect that.  A man could cover his face up if he wanted.  An identity was a precious thing, especially around these parts, especially around people like this.  That’s why McCree wore a scarf and a mask, to keep his identity his own.  Too many men around here would be more than happy to cash in on his bounty.  It was probably the same way for Okami; he had a face pretty enough for a poster, as far as McCree could tell, and someone out there was more than willing to pony up the cash to have him tied up and gift wrapped all the way to the chopping block.

Okami seemed to be aware that he had an audience intently staring.  He eyed the bowl in his hands, seemingly pondering his next move.  How was he supposed to eat with three vultures eyeing him and waiting for his mask to drop?  Bless his heart, what he did next had to hurt.  

In one swift move, he dragged his mask down with his pinkies and immediately brought the bowl up to his face.  Cupping it, and covering the lower half of his face with the bowl and his hands, he tilted his head back and ate the steaming bowlful of food in one painful gulp.  Despite the quiet grunt of pain, he pulled his mask back up with an undeniable grace, wiping his mouth with the back of his right hand and, directly under that, sliding the facial covering back into place with the left.

It was a swift motion, displayed smoothly enough that it had to be practiced.  Not for one second had his face been revealed for any of them to see. If McCree had a scorecard available, he’d have given the man a solid ten for his performance.  Okami glanced his direction, the poor man’s eyes watering as the burns in his mouth registered.  While McCree assumed that Okami was just desperately glancing around while waiting for the pain to stop, their eyes did meet.  He looked him right in the eyes, and McCree swore he saw the corners of Okami’s eyes crinkle in a look of pained victory, if just for the split-second before he looked away.  It had to have hurt like the dickens, but Okami had won, dammit and he had no problem silently bragging about his win over the other three.  He had played their game and he had won.

“Hey, O, didja’ bring a drink?” McCree asked, looking next to the other man.  McCree’s suspicions were confirmed when Okami shook his head in reply.  He had figured the other man hadn’t brought a drink of any kind because Okami hadn’t been planning on staying out here with them.  He had probably been thinking he’d get one on his way back to his quarters, where ever that was.

McCree took pity on him, unhooked the canteen he had attached to his belt, and passed it over to Okami.  “Here, you can have some of this, as long as you don’t mind sipping on some Tennessee Honey.  S’whiskey.”  Okami ripped the container out of his hand, him and his burned gums, thankful for the offer.

As the cap popped off the canteen, Okami paused, seemingly debating how to get a decent drink out of this while still keeping his face hidden.  McCree leaned forward towards him, taking a moment to shoot a baleful look at the three boars around them, before he spoke gently to Okami.

“Maybe try turning around to take a drink, O, and put yer’ back to us, ‘stead of pouring all that down your shirt by accident.” He said with an unseen grin, his eyes lighting up in amusement as he watched Okami’s eyes morph from a thankful understanding look to a disbelieving annoyance as he realized how easily a scalded mouth could have been avoided if he had turned instead of burned.  Wheeling around with slumped shoulders, Okami faced away from them before he straightened back up.  Making L’s with his pointer fingers and thumbs, he hooked his thumbs under his chin and flanked his mouth with his pointers, using his palms to hide his face from the side.  The three free fingers on each hand held the canteen as he tilted his head back and gulped the drink down.

“Drink as much as you need, O.” McCree said, adding a quick tease.  “If I’d known that you were hungry as a wild coyote, I’d have waited a second before I handed you the bowl, ta’ give the breeze a chance to cool off your food before you gave your tongue heatstroke.”

McCree carefully spooned at his food, pulling the bottom of the scarf away from his face so he could eat without showing off his mug either.  He had no doubt that the crocodiles on his team would want to cash in on the bounty on his head if they knew who he was.  It made him wonder who Okami was under the mask, what he had done to want to hide so much.  To each their own, he supposed.

He felt eyes on him, and looked up to see the three men glaring daggers at him.  Those stares were sharp, but he chose to ignore them rather than pick a fight.  They should all be going their own ways by tomorrow night, so there was no reason to cause a fuss quite yet.  Not unless they tried to go after him or Okami directly.  Then he’d raise hell.

Speaking of Okami, McCree glanced towards him to make sure that he was okay and was met with Okami staring at him out of the corners of his eyes.  Certain McCree was watching, his eyes flicked back to the canteen before he looked back at the cowboy.

“Have as much as you need, O.  I meant it.  Go ahead.” McCree said, answering Okami’s silent question.  “Don’t care if you hand it back empty.  I’d just like the canteen itself back when you’re done.”  Okami gave a lone nod, the universal sign of thankfulness from one with an occupied mouth.

The group had grown awkwardly quiet now, with Okami trying to drink his pain away, the three bull sharks staring at McCree and Okami’s back, and with McCree silently eating and meeting said glares with one of his own.  The group stayed rigid until Okami shifted, pulling his mask up as he stood, turning to head inside and away from the group.

McCree glanced up, watching him stride back inside the rusted factory they were using as a base.  He wasn't the only one watching Okami leave.  The large one was only glancing back over his shoulder, but the other two had damn near turned around the stare at him leaving.  With a shake of his head, McCree went back to eating, taking as much caution as he could.  If they wanted Okami’s mask off, then there was a chance they wanted his off too.  The bounty on his head would make him a hell of a target to these snakes.

“Hey, Joker.” Weasel said, getting a grunt of a reply out of McCree.  He’d rather not dignify the conversation with words until necessary.  “Be honest.  Would you fuck the mute?”

The question caught McCree off-guard, causing him to choke on the hot mouthful of food he was eating.  He thumped his hand against his chest while he coughed, trying to fully clear his airway.  Would be damn nice to have a drink right now.  It’d be really damn nice.  Too bad Okami ran off with his canteen, ignoring the _one_ request McCree had made of him.  Asshole.

“Would I-?” A cough.  “Would I-?”  Cough.  “You're asking if I'd-.” A gasping cough as he loosened the blockage, breathing a few times and praying that that wasn't a bean that had gone up his nose.

“Yeah, yeah, would you?” Weasel asked.  “I mean, come on.  That submissive lil’ Asian down on his knees… Kinda hot innit?”

McCree wondered vaguely if they were thinking of the same Asian.  Stereotypes be damned, Okami didn't give a submissive vibe at all.  More of an alpha dog one than a bitch.  He’d rip your throat out before he’d bare his.

Once, when they were on a different team together, McCree had once gone up to check on him after an attack and found ten bodies on the floor near him, three of which had pencils jutting out in surprisingly deadly spots.  One fella’ had a stapler spiked through his throat, and another was electrocuted to a crisp somehow.  McCree decided to not wonder about it.  It was easier not to wonder about it.

“Nah, not my kind of jerkin’ material, if you get my drift.” McCree said. “I prefer my sex consensual.”

“Consensual?  Of course it’d be consensual.  He wouldn’t _say_ no.” Weasel said with an evil grin.

“And who’s to _say_ that he wouldn’t want it?” Lug added.  “He wouldn’t.”

“I’d love to get that Okunto guy under me.  I’d give it to him _so_ good.” Cloudburst continued with a laugh, and McCree damn near felt his heart stop as Cloud continued.  "It'd be nice to knock him down a peg or two."

McCree found he was looking forward to seeing each and every punkass bitch here get done in when Okami finally snapped.  All McCree hoped was that Okami had some fun ripping these assholes a new one.  They’d been all bark and no bite thus far.  And if they ever dared touch Okami, he’d tear their arms off.  But McCree wasn’t sure why they talked so freely about their collective hard-on for Okami in front of McCree.  Did he give off the kind of vibe that he'd be game?  He would never join in.  He’d been dismissing them since day one, making it clear that he was on Okami’s side in all of this.  He’d protect the man with damn near his life if he had to.

Or maybe they realized that he was on Okami’s side and they were just bragging about how, despite their best effort, they’d still get what they wanted.  Neither him nor Okami would stop them.  They would hurt them both to have their way with whoever they wanted.  That was fucked up enough that it had to be it.

“What do you think he looks like under the mask?” Lugnut asked.  “Been pissing me off that he never takes it off.  It’s like he doesn’t trust us or something.”

“Doesn’t trust us?  My heart is broken.” Weasel said with a laugh.  “Nah, he must just think he’s _too good_ to show his face off to us lowlifes.”

McCree scrapped the last spoonful of his beans up and popped it in his mouth.  “Worked with him ‘bout ten times now at least.  Ain’t never seen him without the mask.  I’m pretty sure he’s keeping it covered so that the rest of us got a chance if we run into any ladyfolk out here.”

“Oh, please, like I need any help.” Weasel said, giving a grin that magnified how too big his front teeth were for his small sour-lemon face.  “Ladies _fall_ at my feet.”

“Scaring them into fainting at the sight of your ugly mug don’t count.” McCree taunted, trying to steer the conversation away from Okami.

Weasel huffed.  “Pft, scaring them?  As if.  I’ll have you know that women love me-”

“Your momma don’t count neither.” Lugnut guffawed

“But your momma does.” Weasel growled, pissed at being the target of the minute.  He snidely redirected the conversation towards McCree.  “So, Joker, why do you cover your face up?  You ‘ _giving us a chance’_ too, **_partner_ **?”

“Ah, me?  Nah, ain’t half that poetic.” McCree sighed dramatically. “I know I ain’t got a chance with the ladies with the mask off.  This shit right here on my face gives me half a chance to actually get some.”

“Pfft, like a mask is going to get you some ass.” Cloudburst huffed

“Well, it might be the only you fellas-" The sound of footsteps cut Jesse off.  Thankfully Okami returned, distracting the group from the hole that McCree was ready to dig for himself making fun of these idiots.  He handed McCree his canteen back and McCree found himself caught off-guard by how weighty his canteen was now.  It wasn’t empty anymore, and it was more full than when he had handed it to Okami.  The man must have gone and filled it up with something.  McCree hoped it wasn’t the water.  The water around here was red.  It was not supposed to be red.

He became vaguely aware of the crew having a conversation and tuned out of his thoughts and into what they were saying-

“Man, we had such a good day on the field.” Weasel said.  “Did you all see how Cloud ripped that guy’s guts ou-”

-and then McCree was done listening in and quickly changed the station, coming up with any other thing in the world he could think about right now except for this job.

Books.  What was the plot of the book he had in his bag?  He hadn’t picked it up in weeks now.  Something about a cowboy running into a lady at the county fair, right?  Long-lost friends from childhood or something meeting for the first time in years.  Yeah, that was it.

Ignoring the others’ conversation about nothing, he absentmindedly brought the canteen to his lips, startling at the liquid he tasted.  That sure wasn't whiskey.  And it sure wasn’t any sort of water he had ever tasted, especially not the rusted stuff in the pipes around here that he had had the misfortune of drinking by accident.

Taking a more conscious sip, McCree tried to identify what was now gracing his bottle.  Sharp, savory, and bitter, but with only a soft bite to it, he couldn't place the drink.  It was boozy, yes, but a bit fruity too, and something he had tasted before, but it wasn't a drink he could put a name to.  It was pleasant enough to keep taking pulls from, though.  Taking another sip, he managed to put a name to the taste.

“Sake, huh?  Haven't had this in a while.” Jesse said quietly to Okami.  “S’pretty good, thanks.”

Okami gave a small nod of acknowledgement in response.  He kept looking McCree over, and made no effort to be subtle about it.  His was the kind of stare you could feel from across a room; being on the receiving end of such an intense look, McCree found himself shivering slightly under the inspection. Chancing a glance in the Okami’s direction, McCree’s gaze met those dark amber brown eyes, honeyed in the light of the setting sun.  Their eyes met, but Okami made no effort to hide his studying of McCree’s face, the intensity of his look-over compounded by heavy black eyeliner that was smudged well-beyond his eyes.

Okami’s preference darkness over neatness for his war paint, at least while he was on a job, was showing itself once again.  At the start of a job he looked pretty as a picture with his liner done up all neat, but by the end he looked ready to headline at a heavy metal concert.  That was all because he never neatened it up when the sweat and sun made everything run, instead just adding another layer when it got too faded from the smudging.  If the man wasn’t careful, his next “touch-up” would have him looking less like a badass and more like a raccoon.

What Okami was looking for in this stare-down, McCree wasn't sure, but it was unreadable and getting unnerving.  It was a long few seconds of gazing at each other, but McCree broke first, dragging his gaze first to the piercing gracing the bridge of Okami’s nose, and then down to the desert floor,away from Okami’s stare. If Okami was issuing a challenge, then McCree was smart enough to not take him up on it, and if he wasn’t, McCree was smart enough to show Okami that he wasn’t a threat.

“Anyone wanting seconds?” McCree asked, skimming his gaze over the group. “We still got some food left; either eat it or it gets tossed.”

McCree didn't miss how Cloudburst eyed Okami hopefully, trying to will the smaller man to take up the offer and take off his mask once more so that they could try to see his face.  When it became clear that neither Okami nor McCree were going to grab another bowl, Weasel leaned forward with a groan and helped himself to the rest of the food.

McCree stood up, his knees protesting the move, and wiped the seat of his pants.  “Which one of y’all’s taking over watch after me tonight?  Figure I’ll be hanging around the west side.”

“I am.  When the time comes, I’ll be taking over on the west, then starting in on the _east_.” Weasel said, standing up with the other two, glancing down towards Okami.  Only Okami was still sitting by now, staring at the glowing embers left of the fire and ignoring everyone else around him.  

The fact Okami seemed to miss the pointed look sent in his direction worried McCree.  Did that look mean that Weasel and his crew were planning to go after Okami tonight?  They talked big talk, sure, but to try to take on Okami was damn near suicide.

Still...

Jesse slowed his steps, pausing and letting the other three move past him.  In the back of his mind he knew that if anyone here tried anything, Okami would easily wipe the floor with them.  He just couldn't shake the worry of the other three catching Okami him off-guard, if that was even possible.  Just to be sure, he’d walk Okami inside to wherever he had chosen to bunk.  Better safe than sorry.

Turning to face Okami, he watched as the smaller man kicked sand over the dying embers of the fire.  At least someone else on this team had the sense to put out the fire. It was usually his job to take care of once everyone else had gotten the food they wanted and split. McCree gently booted some as well, trying to help his fellow assassin out.  Okami paused and looked over at him, a question clearly showing in his eyes; “ _Why are you still out here?_ ” they asked.  When he wanted to, Okami could have some of the damn most expressive looks, ones that spoke volumes.  A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a quirk of Okami’s eyebrow could be worth ten times that, in the right circumstances.

“Was thinking I’d walk with you, make sure you got inside alright.” McCree explained.  “The others were saying some shit about you again, downright horrific stuff once you went inside.  I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know, Joker. Thank you.”

The words were quiet, surprisingly sincere, and they caught McCree completely off-guard.  He blinked a few times as he looked down at the smaller man, wondering if he had heard right or if the desert wind had blown by just wrong enough to sound like a response.  

He knew it hadn’t been the wind though.  It had been Okami.

Okami could actually talk?  Jesse had been all but sure he couldn’t.  Ten plus jobs working with his man and _this_ was the very first thing he had ever said to McCree.  Not “duck, Joker.” or “they’re coming around back side, Joker, or, “nice shot, Joker, your aim is the most spectacularly on-point thing I’ve ever seen and I wish I was as half as amazing as you.”

“ _I know, Joker.  Thank you.”_

It fit.  Those words fit him to a T.  Simple, concise, sincere.  That was the Okami that McCree knew.

Instead of speaking the obvious question on his mind, McCree politely skipped over it.  His momma had raised him to have better manners than to point out that a fella who’s never said a word just said five like it was the most normal thing in the world.  Folks just didn’t do that.

“Do ya’ mind if I walk with you?  To be honest, it’s for me as much as it is for you.  Make me feel a hell of a lot better to.” McCree said as he rubbed at the back of his neck.  “But I don’t wanna be treading on any toes or bruisin’ any egos with the offer.”

Okami gave the fire one last kick of sand, and then stepped over towards McCree.  He stood right next to McCree, waiting for the other man to begin walking.  McCree took the hint and set a leisurely pace for the two of them, moseying them towards the warehouse.  They walked in silence.  Okami wasn't the best conversationalist at the moment, though he was better than McCree had given him credit for, and McCree didn't feel like babbling the two of them to tears.  He'd rather not announce their presence with senseless jabber anyway, especially not with how the crew had been talking.

Once inside, he let Okami guide them, content to walk the man all the way to his quarters.  Okami had other ideas, though, stopping the two of them in a hall.  McCree waited half a minute for Okami to continue, wondering if the man was lost, but figured out what he wanted just a moment later.

“You wanna go the rest of it solo, O?”  McCree asked, receiving a nod in reply.  

Come to think of it, he had never found where Okami had decided to bunk.  Weasel had claimed the chair in a defunct control room, Lugnut had picked the benches in the break room, and Cloud was residing in the cabin of an abandoned forklift.  McCree had been sleeping in the stairwell towards the back, wanting to be as far away from the others as he could be.  

Come night time, Okami all but vanished.  That was probably the way he liked it.  Out of sight until he chose to let you see him.  He could easily be the last thing you ever see, in both the right circumstances, like hide-and-go-seek, and the wrong circumstances, like an assassination. 

Okami had begun vanish into the darkness of the hallway, but before he disappeared, McCree reached out and grabbed his shoulder to stop him for just a moment.  In hindsight, that was a poor decision on his part; his fingers wrapping around Okami’s shoulder was akin to pulling the pin on a grenade, and it could have easily been the last thing he ever did.

Thankfully, aside from a brief look of intense curiosity, though every expression Okami wore was intense to some extent thanks to that eyeliner, Okami gave no real reaction as McCree yanked his hand back, instead merely looking back over his shoulder with a quirk of his brow.

“Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to touch ya’ like that, don’t think I was trying nothing, I ain’t like the others, I just-” Okami turned around, crossing his arms over his chest-plate as he watched McCree bluster.

“I am well aware you are nothing like those animals. You just what-?” Okami prompted quietly.  Okami actually talking was so new that hearing those soft words were enough to shut the cowboy up and rein his thoughts in.

“Shit, I just wanted to say, ‘fore you went, that, ah...I’ll be on watch until two or so tonight.  If you need me durin’ that time, you’re more than welcome to join me up there ‘til I’m done.” McCree stuttered under Okami’s dark-eyed stare, having to remind himself that it was just good manners to offer help to another fella, even if that fella could snap his spine in two.  He just hoped that Okami didn’t mind the offer.  He wasn’t trying to insult the man by implying he was incapable, he just wanted to help keep him safe.

Okami nodded, which was much better than the reaction McCree had been worried about  “I had been planning to talk to you there tonight, away from prying ears and eyes.”

He’d been planning to do what now? Okami had been planning on talking to _him?_  Really?  “Guess I made you jump the gun a bit on your dramatic reveal, huh?” McCree teased.  

Okami tilted his head at McCree’s words.  “My what?”

“Your, ah, whole big reveal about how you can talk?” McCree tried.  “Never heard you speak before in all the times we’ve worked together.  Figured you mentioning it would be a bigger deal to you.”

“Why?” Okami asked.  “Just because I did not say a word until now does not mean that I was _trying_ to have a reveal of any sort tonight.”

Well, now McCree felt stupid.  “Golly, I didn’t mean to insult you or nothin’ by presumin’-”  His apology was cut off when he noticed the slight shake of Okami’s shoulders.  Either the man was pissed as hell or-

“Are you laughin' at me’?” McCree asked quietly.

McCree got his answer when Okami brought a hand to his masked mouth, crooking a finger over his lips as mischief look shone in his eyes.  Okami was enjoying this, clearly. “You may have encouraged an early reveal, yes, and I was going to be a bit more dramatic initially when the ‘reveal’ first happened, yes, but I was planning on speaking to you tonight anyway.  With or without the dramatics.”

Behind his scarf, McCree was pouting at being played, though that wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy it.  Despite Okami not speaking in the weeks they had worked together, in all the different places they had worked together, talking with him came naturally, oddly enough.

“Why tonight?” McCree asked.  He deserved an answer to that, at least.

“You being on the roof puts you somewhere I can find you when there’s no one else around to listen in.” Okami said.  “Plus, it is a time sensitive situation I wish to discuss.  It has to be tonight.  After that is too late.”

“Too late?  What’s going down?” McCree paused, watching Okami’s brows quirk up.  It was clear that nothing more was going to be said about the situation right now. “Right, tonight.  I’ll find out tonight, I guess.”

Okami turned, disappearing into the dark shadows down the hall.  “Looking forward to it, O.” McCree called after him.  “You got me right dying of curiosity.”

There was no answer given in reply, but McCree hadn't been exactly expecting one.  Unwilling to waste anymore time, he spared only one last look towards the dark hallway, turned, and began heading towards the roof.  The sooner he was alone on lookout, the sooner Okami would be dropping by and hopefully be giving him some answers about what the actual hell was going on.  Not that he minded hustling up to the roof.  Not at all.  Being on the night patrol was one of the few things McCree liked about this hell job. Patrolling the roof while the others were asleep gave him a chance to be alone, if just for a little while.  Privacy was a hard thing to come by in these parts.  Any bit of privacy a fella’ could come across out here was as precious as a diamond. 

He made it up to the roof just as the last remnants of the sunset gave way to the approaching darkness of night.  Leaning against the roof’s railing, he peered across the flat desert, keeping watch for any movement in the night.   He wasn't worried.  The likelihood of the gang making a move lessened with every thrashing they received; there wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone left would try something unless they were damn near suicidal.

Most of members of the gang had been seasoned vets of the criminal life, but unfortunately, there had been a fair amount of young men who had to have been eighteen and younger in there too.  McCree was all but certain that a kid he had let slip past him couldn’t have been any older than fifteen.  

Not many young’uns resorted to crime because they wanted to.  Most of them had to, just to survive.  McCree had been there himself.  He knew what it was like to desperately grasp at a shred of opportunity was dangled in front of your nose, no matter how bloody the offer was.  

He knew what that was like all too well.

Their target had been inexperienced and easy to tear apart.  They had talked a big talk, flexed their muscles through property damage and theft, and scared McCree’s employer into hiring guns, but they hadn’t been able to back up their threats and they paid dearly for it.  Pretending to be a big dog when all they could only nip at heels?  That got them kicked right in the kisser.

They had been destroyed easily, this last fight having been the bloodiest, and McCree frowned at the memory.  Too many people had died over these last few days.  It would be best if he could find a way to stop thinking about the bullets that had ripped through their bodies, the screams that had echoed into the desert sky, or the guts scattered over the red-stained sand.  It would be best if he could stop thinking about all of it.  

Unfortunately, they were hard thoughts to shake.  He found he had been stuck in his head far too much over the last week, living in the present as much as the past.

Jesse tried to focus on the stars beginning to light up the night sky, his usual comfort no matter where he was.  Despite his attempt to distract himself with spotting constellations, his mind was forcibly drawn back to the bloodbath of the day.  

McCree had figured that he had grown numb to blood and death by this point, as a survival instinct if nothing else, but this crew he was unfortunate enough to be hired into reveled in the violence and terror in ways he hadn’t witnessed since Deadlock.  No man should find any enjoyment in death; a killing should be quick, efficient, as humane as possible, not drawn out and savored like a fine blood-stained wine.

The only comfort he could take away from today was that Okami seemed to take the same stance that McCree did when it came to the young punks on the team.  McCree had watched as he easily put the second-in-command down from across the field, but let a young’un run towards him to jump in a buggy out of there.  Okami had seen the fear in the kid’s eyes and he hadn’t bothered to take what could have been the easiest shot of his life.  

Any shot Okami did take was a one shot kill.  There was no taunting or teasing, it was simple and efficient, and the most damn humane thing McCree had seen from any of the men he had worked with over the last couple of years.  Jesse had forgotten that anyone could have a sense of humanity in this line of work.  There was a quiet, hopeful prayer in the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t fallen to the same level as the murders around him.  Maybe, just maybe, he was still as professional and merciful as Okami was.  

He wasn’t so sure he was.  But he tried his damnedest to be.

That appreciation for Okami and his elevated standard of assassination were part of the reason that McCree was looking forward to this meeting he had asked of him.  Made him feel sorta’ special, even, getting a private meeting with the formerly silent king of archery like this.   _He_ had spoken to him.  That did mean he was special, somehow, didn't it?

Maybe, just maybe, Okami saw that he was someone else disgusted with the all shit going down in this hellhole too.

The moon was up high in the sky by the time McCree came back down to earth.  It was easy to get lost in deep thought when there was nothing but the desert breeze and dark memories to keep a fella’ company.  McCree dug a gloved hand into his pocket, pulling out his lighter and his pack of cigarettes.  He missed his cigars, but they were too unwieldy to carry around for the quick smokes he needed to sneak in.  The cigarettes would have to do.  

Addiction was a son of a bitch, but nicotine was nicotine, and McCree needed his calming fix in any way he could get it.

Up on the rooftop was the only time that he could truly enjoy his cigarette.  There was no quick puffing, no glances around corners, no having to be ready to spit out the stick and yank his scarf back up over his face at the slightest sound.  No one was going to disturb him up here and he didn’t need to hide a thing from anyone.  One cigarette turned into two, which turned into three.  He was lighting his fourth when he felt eyes upon him.  He glanced back over his shoulder, expecting Okami to already be behind him.  No one was there.  

McCree turned fully, stepping away from the roof’s railing, and squinting into the darkness to see if he could spot the man.  The figure he could have sworn that he saw turned out to be nothing more than shadows dancing under the moon.  Goosebumps rising on his neck confirmed that those eyes, wherever they were, were still locked onto him.  He still felt the hard gaze on his back.  Had someone gotten behind him?  How?  He was on the edge of the roof, the only access a door in front of him, there was no way that someone had gotten in behind him.

But he still felt those eyes...

He wheeled back around, fingers curling toward his pistol as he readied up for a fight.  Instead of a fight, though he was greeted by the sight of Okami relaxedly leaning back against the railings McCree had just vacated.  The man's eyes were locked onto him with that damn smirky look that McCree hadn’t know that he liked until now.

“How did you get behind me?” McCree asked him, looking the man up and down.  Okami's posture was at ease, especially with him resting his elbows on the railing and limiting his reach.  He was unarmed, making it clear he had just come to talk.  McCree found he looked odd without the quiver’s strap wrapped over his torso or a bow in his hand.

“Same way I get anywhere.” Okami replied coolly.  

"With style an' finesse that puts the rest of us to shame?" McCree asked with a grin.

“How else?" Okami replied with a shrug before he continued. "You noticed my presence rather quickly, Joker.  Faster than most. Your posture changed the minute you sensed me.”

“Did it?” McCree asked.  “I’m gonna guess complimenting m’posture’s not why you decided to have a rende-roof with me, though, right?”

“No, it is not-... A what did you say?  Is that French?” Hanzo’s eyebrows drew in tight.  

McCree didn't know how to break it to him that it wasn't.  The man seemed to be over-pondering the word, seemingly trying to translate the slang into something that made sense.  McCree was surprised to find that Okami seemed to be quite the sucker for linguistics.  Considering how little Okami spoke, McCree would have never guessed that he was so interested in language. 

Okami seemed to give up trying to decipher the word.  “It’s not related to sex, is it?” he finally asked Jesse.

“I-French? Yeah, kinda, but sex?” McCree asked, wondering if he had misused a fancy-ass word.  Knowing him, he probably had.  Though he swore the word was supposed to be about meeting up and not meating up.  Had they changed the definition since the last time he looked?  Could they do that?  “Why the hell would I be talking 'bout sex now?”

“I heard French is a romance language." Okami explained. "It’s not too much of a stretch of the imagination to assume that word could be risqué, is it?”

McCree looked up in thought for a moment.  “Is that what being romance language means?  They're all about sex an' makin' some lovin'?”

Okami glanced down in thought before he met McCree’s gaze once more.  “...Is it not?  Would else could it mean?”

“Spanish is a romance language, I thought.  It ain’t all about dicks.”  McCree paused.  “Though French slang is what people say you should throw out if you wanna get in a fella’s pants.  People apparently think it’s sexy.  Spanish too.”  McCree paused again, nibbling on his lip in thought.  “Huh.  Maybe you’re right.”

Okami held up a hand and stopped him.  “Don’t assume I am." he cautioned. "The more we talk the stupider I feel.”

“Well, gee,  _thanks_.” McCree said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Not because of present company.  Because of present topic.” Okami scolded him.  “Anyway, we’re off-track.  I’m not here for linguistics.”

“Linguistics?  That sounds like one of them erotic French words you were talking about.” McCree interrupted with a teasing smirk, looking the man up and down once more.  “Are you trying to flirt with lil’ ol’ me?  is that why you asked about sex?  That’s a ‘risqué’ thing to do, O.  You should know better than that.  Didn't your momma tell you to watch for boys like me?”

"No." Okami replied simply.  “Joker.  I’m here for something serious.”

"Didn't say we couldn't be.  Fooling around is fine and all, but I can commit to this relationship if that's what makes you feel comfortable."  McCree wasn't even trying to hide his grin by this point.  It was so nice to be shooting the breeze with someone sane.  Who could blame him for trying make it last as long as possible.  "Whatever you need.  There ain't no I in 'you an' me'."

It seemed like Okami had caught on to the game by now, and he was trying to play along.  "There may not be, but there are four  _eyes_  between you and me, and I'd like yours to focus on mine." Okami said, gesturing for their gazes to connect.

"Of course.  I only have eyes for you." McCree had to cup a hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud.  This had gone much farther than he anticipated and his sweet-nothings were just about down to nothing.

McCree swore he saw Okami’s face scrunch up as he fought to keep a smile from at bay and he heard a soft snort of a laugh from under his mask.  Okami did have a decent sense of humor, it seemed.  Thank God. 

"How lonely you must be, to flirt with a man like me." Okami mused.  “Joker, allow me get our talk out of the way and then perhaps we can talk lingually.”

McCree grinned around his cigarette.  “You can talk French to me any day.”

Okami’s brow knit tighter in his struggle to keep his amusement at bay.  “I know your handle is Joker, but could you be serious for one moment?”

“Yessir, but only for one.” McCree said playfully, growing serious when he saw how intently Okami was staring at him.  “For real this time.  What's on your mind?  Why'd you call this meeting with me?”

Okami paused, growing serious as he seemingly debated with himself on how to properly start his inquiry. "...If, ah...I..." he paused. "If it came down to a fight between me and the rest of the team, who's side would be more willing to join?”

“Hell, O, you know I'd be by your side in a heartbeat.  I’ve been on your side the whole time.” McCree said.  “Why do you think I’ve been sticking my neck out for you these last two weeks?  Why do you think I walked you in and made sure you got in safe?”

“Because you enjoy my company?” Okami offered, pausing as he pondered.  “My silent, stoic... _very_  silent company?”

“I always did have a soft spot for brooding loners that could probably shoot me dead with just a look.” McCree deadpanned.  “Now, you very well know where I stand when it comes to a you versus them scenario.  The real question here is why you're asking me that.  What's going on?”

Okami’s hand slipped behind him to scratch at the back of his head.  “I may have overheard something that concerns that exact scenario.  I just did not want to leave anything to chance.”

McCree stood up straighter, slipping his hands into his pockets.  “What exactly did you overhear?”

“That those three morons wish to murder us tomorrow afternoon once our credits are delivered from our employer so they can cash them in once the two-or-so-hour hold on the transfer expires.” Okami said, bringing his arm back to rest on the railing.  “The thought was to strangle you or to cleave you in half.  I believe they plan on keeping your face intact so they remove your mask and cash in if you have a bounty.”

“Oh.  Delightful.” McCree replied.  “Guessing they were planning on...ah, you know, uh, enacting their fantasies with you then?”

“Yes, and then brutally murdering me once they were done.” Okami told him, his tone more bored than bothered. “But don't concern yourself with that.”

McCree's mouth fell open.  “Okami, I am completely going to concern myself with that." he said. "That's kind of fucking terrifying-”

“More like a terrifying fucking, I would think.” Okami said with a shrug.

“-How the hell are you not the least bit concerned about them planning ta’ murder us?” McCree asked, gesturing back towards the building where the men resided.

Okami blinked in surprise.  “I am concerned.  About you.  Can you not see that I am using a concerned face?” he said as he pointed towards his mask, his hand dropping as he continued, “Joker, this is why I  _had_ to speak with you  _tonight._ ”

“It’s nice an’ all that you’re concerned about  _me_ ,” McCree said, “but ain’t you worried about them going after  _you?_ ”

Okami laughed.  The motherfucker actually chuckled quietly, his shoulders shaking and his head tilted back in amusement.

“Joker, those peasants don't have a chance in hell of even touching me, letting alone having their way with me.” Okami said as he straightened back up.  “I have no reason at all to be worried about them.”

McCree blinked in surprise at his response.  “O, you're a skilled man.  You need to have more confidence in yourself.  Ain't no reason for you to be so humble.”

“I can be humbled, Joker, I have been before, by many things,” Okami told him, easily catching the cautioning in McCree’s sarcasm, “but I will not be humbled by those three mutts that think they are worthy of skinning the wolf’s hide.”

McCree had to give him that point.  The two of them had a decent chance taking on that motley crew.  The numbers game was the only issue.  “Fair enough.  The fight ain’t going to be half-as bad considerin’ we know they’re gonna try to jump us.”

“Exactly.” Okami said with a lone nod.

“So you got a plan, O?” McCree asked. “Beat ‘em to the punch?  Or engage them head on when they attack?”

“Engage, in a sense.  We need them alive when the payroll is brought in.” Okami said.  McCree wasn't sure why they didn't go after the men tonight, but he kept his mouth shut while Okami continued.  “I'd imagine they plan to attack us during the waiting period for the payment to clear, and definitely after the messenger is gone so our credits aren't recalled because we are dead.”

“So we get paid and then hide and then jump ‘em?” McCree asked.  “Take them out when they least expect it?”

“Yes, though I’d caution that they might be ready for us to fight back in some way.  Then again, they are idiots; they might not be expecting it at all. ”  The smirky look came back into Okami’s eyes. “I cannot wait to see their faces when they see how turns are tabled”

Jesse caught the smile that tugged at his lips, reeling it in before it lit up his face.  With how picture-perfect the English Okami normally used was, the occasional misphrase was oddly endearing.

“So are we tag-team brawlin’ it tomorrow?” McCree asked.  “They won't be expecting that, I figure.”

“No, and I doubt that they will expect us to have a plan either.  My thinking is we stick you out as a decoy, because they want to pick us off one at a time.” Okami said.  “They focus you, I come in from behind, and then we fully engage.  Do you oppose?”

Looking Okami up and down, McCree chewed on his cigarette in thought.  “Ain't too fond of being the decoy,” he hesitated only a moment, “but I trust you’ll have my back?”

“I will.”

McCree paused. “I hope you understand that I don't trust easily.  Only reason I am trustin’ is because it’s you.  Don't let me down.”

“I will not.” Okami said.  “No harm will befall you here, I will not allow it.”

“As long as they ain't too trigger-happy and shoot me before you make an entrance.” McCree mused.

“Joker, there are two things I can assure you of.” Okami said, counting them on his fingers.  “No harm will come to you and these men are grade A idiots that talk too much and will give me ample time to act.  Do you really doubt me that much?”

“It's not that I doubt you, O, but more like you're asking me to trust you more than I've trusted anyone in years.  It's kinda hard to just  _do_ , ya’ know?”

Hanzo had to give him that one.

“I understand.  What I am asking of you is not easy to give.” Hanzo admitted hesitantly. “But now I wonder, am I still going to get any of it?  Or have you changed your mind already?”

“O, I ain't backing out.” Joker said. “I'm still gonna be by your side.  Might have a couple’a new holes in me, but I'll be right by your side.”

"So you will trust me to fight alongside you then?" Okami asked.

“Of course, O, that was never the question.  I don't look over my shoulder as much when you're on my team because I trust you to have my back.  I've put my life in your hands before; I can do it again.” McCree said.  “That answer your question, O?”

Okami looked pleased with his reply, if the way his eyes lit up was anything to go by.  “It does, yes.”  he mused, looking McCree over slowly, his stare growing hot and heavy.

That look he was sending McCree was fire incarnate, with just a touch of smolder around the edges.  A look like that was dangerous.  McCree had always really loved dangerous.

“That all you came up here to talk about?” McCree asked, voice dipping low as he grinned around his cigarette.  He  _really_ liked that look in Okami’s eyes. “Got anything else you wanna add before you run off and take up your vow of silence again?”

“That was all I had  _planned_ on discussing with you up here, yes.” Okami’s intense stare traveled south, trailing from McCree's eyes to his lips.  “Perhaps you would not mind me leaving you with another small token?”

“Nah, sugar, leave me with whatever  _token_ you got to share.” McCree was living for how soft and positively  _sensual_ Okami’s voice had just gotten.  It was like music to his ears.

He sucked in a breath when Okami leaned in close, his face inches from McCree's.  Okami's eyes were fixated on his lips and McCree idly wondered how they were gonna do any proper kissing or anything with O’s mask in the way.  They’d just have to figure something out as they went, he supposed.

Instead of any liplocking, though, the cigarette was just yanked out from between McCree's lips.  His mouth was left feeling annoyingly unoccupied for more reasons than one.  The stick now sat between Okami’s pointer and index fingers and he then curled those fingers inward so that the light from the cigarette was shadowed by his wrist.

“Did you know that targets who smoke are some of the easiest for snipers to hit come nightfall?” he purred to McCree.

Okami was still close, so very close.  He was meeting McCree's eyes now, staring intently as he spoke in a deep, hushed tone like he was dirty talking instead of talking about work.  The small bit of light shining upwards looked good on him, magnifying how sharp those cheekbones were and how good he wore that bridge piercing.  It made McCree wonder what other piercings he had.  His heart rate increased just a tick.

“Oh?” he asked breathlessly, prompting Okami to continue.  

The man could say whatever the hell he wanted to McCree right now.  Jesse didn't care what it was as long as he didn't stop.

“The light is a direct guide to your head.  That small glow is enough at times to ensure a killing shot, even in the dark of night.” Okami explained, tilting his wrist up enough for the smoldering embers of the cigarette to cast a lithe illumination between them.

Maybe McCree  _did_ care about what he was saying, just a bit.  

He paused, looking at the embers on the cigarette, up to the curling smoke rising into the night sky, and then he finally trailed his eyes back to Okami’s face, watching as the man stared at the cigarette stub. “I’m really hoping that’s not a threat, O.”

Okami dragged his gaze up away from the glow to meet McCree’s.  “A threat?  No.  Never.”  Straightening out his fingers, Okami gently held the cigarette back up to McCree’s mouth, letting the end of it rest on the edge of his mouth.  McCree parted his lips just enough to let Okami slide the cigarette back into place.

“Just friendly advice then?” he asked.

“Mmm, yes.  I suppose.” Okami said, fingers brushing against McCree’s lips as he pulled his hand away.  “You have a nice face from what I can see.  Be a shame to have a bullet pierce your mandible and kill you.  Or maim you.”

McCree paused, weighing the words over.  “Think that’d be a shame even if my face weren’t so nice.” he replied.

“The gift of beauty is wasted on the dead.” Okami murmured, straightening up and pulling back from McCree suddenly.  “It is just advice to consider.  That is all.  I just wished to give you perspective from the view of a sniper, for I doubt you’ve experienced it.”

McCree puffed up a bit.  “Actually, I was trained by a sniper.  It’s been a couple of decades since I’ve held a rifle, but I used to aim one pretty well.  Never got far enough into sniping ta’ learn about the smoking thing, though.”

That seemed to grab Okami’s attention.  “You were once a sniper?”

“Mmmhmm.” McCree hummed proudly. “Like, only for a couple months because I wasn’t too good at staying in the back lines so they put me out front like I wanted, but I was at one time.  Ain’t ever as good as you though.” he added with a wink.

“No one ever is.” Okami shrugged his shoulders as he brought a hand up to idly scratch at his mask.  McCree silently huffed.  Okami didn’t just take compliments, he could downright steal them out of a fella’s mouth and turn them up tenfold like he was God’s gift to men.  In some ways, to McCree, he was.

It still didn’t change the fact that Okami could star in his own kids book: If You Give this Wolf a Cookie, He’ll Come for Your Whole Life.  

Okami continued talking.  “And I can see your impulsiveness being a problem.  Considering how often I’ve saved you on the field, I can definitely see it.”  McCree was all but certain that he was teasing him again.

“O, come on, you haven’t had to save my ass  _that_ many times-”

“More than you’re aware of, yes.  Because I’m very good at what I do.” Okami said as he crooked a finger in front of his masked mouth, a smirk in his eyes. “But far less than I have others, Joker.  Because you’re  _very good_ at what  _you_ do.”

McCree squinted suspiciously.  “Did you just insult and compliment me in the same breath?” he asked slowly.

“I admire your passion on the field, how you throw yourself wholly into danger.  I do the same thing at times myself.” Okami said, brushing over McCree's question. “But, at times, you become overly focused on something or someone, and all your actions are dictated by that focus.”

“I don't-”

“I've seen it, Joker.  I see much from the backlines, more than from the front.  I have been on both as well.  There is quite the difference.  You have experienced this too, yes?” Okami said.  “You and I have worked together on fourteen occasions thus far. That is fourteen times I've seen you engage in fights on the front. I am aware of your unconscious habits, more so than you, Joker, trust me on this.”

“O, I believe you.” McCree said, taking a slow drag of his cigarette.  A small, tired smile ticked on his lips. “Seems like I've been putting a lot of trust in you lately, huh?”

Okami's face grew serious at the reminder.  The intense look in his eyes dropped to something more distant, the close intimacy of their rooftop discussion coming to an end.  McCree missed already.

“Yes.  And I will not let you down.  I will not betray that trust.” Okami said stiffly.  He sounded more like a soldier responding to orders than a friend.  At least, McCree considered him a friend; he wasn’t sure if Okami thought of him as anything more than a necessary ally.

“I know you won't.” he replied to Okami. “And I know you know I'm going to have your back too, yeah, O?”

“Of course.” Okami said, relaxing just a bit.  McCree found he relaxed at his words too. “I would expect nothing less from you.”

“Good to hear.  Just wanted to make sure.” McCree said, noticing Okami glance all around the rooftop.  “You heading off?”

“Yes.  Best be leaving before anyone finds the two of us up here together.” Okami said.  “ I will meet you in the morn, Joker.”

“Right then, sounds good.” McCree said, leaning on the roof’s railing and glancing out over the desert sands once more.  “Been great talking to you, O.  G’night, partner.”

“Stay on guard tonight.”

“Will do, O.” McCree said as he peered back over his shoulder.  “You do the same-”

McCree cut himself off, whipping his head around to confirm his suspicions.  A quick sweep of the roof told him he was right.  He was talking to nobody.

Okami was gone.  He had vanished from the rooftop, silent as the night.  One moment he was right there, talking to McCree, and the next he was nothing but a memory.  

How the hell did he do that?

However he did it, McCree was glad that Okami assassin was on his side.  Imaging him and Okami having to fight it out against each other sent a shiver up his spine.  That would be a horrible, bloody fight to the death.  Only a roll of the dice would determine who would be the one to survive.  If McCree was a gambling man, he would he bet his hard-earned cash and credits on Okami being the one to walk away alive.

Okami was on his side, though, for now.  If he wanted McCree dead, McCree would be very dead.   Okami could have acted on the rooftop, blending into the surrounding darkness and using it as a cover for his attack, but he didn’t.  He had appeared out in the open, after making it clear he was dropping by, unarmed save for his wits.  McCree felt he himself was a tad bit too alive at the moment to believe Okami had his number.

Heaving a sigh, McCree idly chewed on the stub of a cigarette between his lips while he rolled thoughts around in his head.

Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a bloodbath.  At least two men were going to end up dead, and that was assuming the worst case scenario.  Ideally, it would be three, which was a dark thought to consider the bright side.

Either way, someone was going to die tomorrow.

Assuming they didn't die tonight, anyway.

Shit.

Spitting out the end of his cigarette, he watched the small glow fall to the ground, the sight reminding him of a dying firefly on its last breath.  He snuffed the cigarette out, grinding it under his heel, and then went back to properly keeping watch, listening more for sounds near the door behind him rather than the stretch of desert all around.

He began shifting towards the dark shadows, using them as a way to keep his presence to a minimum.  There was a reason he had snuffed the cigarette; he didn’t want any small beacons guiding any killing blows towards his head.  If something was going to be snuffed tonight, it sure wasn't going to be him.

Addiction was a son of a bitch, but it wasn't going to be the son of a bitch that killed him tonight.

The worst threats were the ones that were closest, the ones that could pierce him from behind if he wasn't careful.  The ones that he had been fighting alongside this whole job.  He had to make sure that no one tried anything while he was alone.  There were only a another hour to keep watch; he was going to survive it.

Time passed slowly.  The desert was silent below and the stars seemed to be mocking him from above.  Everything was far too quiet and it was making him uneasy.  This atmosphere was going to drive him nuts.  The quiet was shattered when the lonely howl of a coyote shook the night.  The shrill cry pierced the air and McCree's gut instinct coiled tightly in alarm.  His hand drifted down to his gun, flicking off the safety, ready to aim it in a moment’s notice.

He was prepared.  He didn't know for what, but he was prepared.

The rusty door inside creaked open a minute later and Weasel waltzed through.  Had that door creaked when Okami appeared on the roof?  McCree didn’t think it had.  Weasel seemed to be skulking more than usual, but straightened up when he noticed that McCree saw him.  Had he been thinking about trying to attack him now, while they were isolated on a roof?  Jesus.

“Swapping out?” McCree asked Weasel, making it clear that he knew the other man was up here.

“Yep.  My turn to stare at the sand.” Weasel said, sidling up to the railing and claiming a spot next to McCree.  “Quiet night?”

“Quiet as a graveyard.” McCree replied, keeping a wary eye on Weasel’s form.

“‘Nough bodies are out there to call it a graveyard, yeah.”  Weasel said with a laugh.  “Shame some plots are empty.  I saw a few of those fuckers get away.  Should killed them all, just to make sure we don’t get our pay slashed.”

“Mmm.” McCree said, doing his best to keep his anger at bay, at least on the outside.  Inside, he was fuming.

Now was not the time to start something, he tried to remind himself.  Now was not the time to pick a fight and yell about how most of the people who had gotten away were so, so young and didn’t deserve to die for one stupid mistake.  McCree was all but ready to shoot him and take him out now.  It’d be easier on them tomorrow to have one fewer body to deal with, but it would raise suspicion.  

Would it be worth it?

No.  Not yet.

Okami had had a plan and had to come him with it.  Okami wanted him alive, probably to get some sweet, sweet revenge, which McCree could respect.  Whatever he wanted to do, McCree would listen and cooperate, no matter how much he wanted to raise his weapon now.  He’d do as Okami wanted, and wait until the time came to act.  Now wasn’t the time.

But tomorrow would be.

“Well, I’m off.” McCree said.   He didn’t stick around to ask any questions, he vamoosed to the door as subtly as one could vamoose.  Even though his back was turned to the other man, he kept his ears sharp, listening for the sound of a weapon being drawn.  There was none.  He still didn’t let his guard down.

He wasn't getting shot in the back, not up here, no sir; McCree already knew that when death came to claim him proper, he was going to look it right in the eye.  He ain’t no coward.

He ain’t no fool neither.  

He focused on his surroundings as he walked through the dark factory.  The old building creaking and groaning, wind whistling through the pipes.  Besides the ambient soundtrack of a abandoned hellhole dancing around him, the space was quiet.  Very quiet.  Too quiet.

It took McCree a moment to figure out why he was getting a strong case of heebie jeebies jigging up his spine like a vaudeville act’s grand finale.  When he did, his blood ran cold.  There was no snoring.  Lugnut’s snores usually echoed through the halls.  Either he had learned to sleep on his side, or Lug was awake and getting up to no good.

Before McCree had time to think about what he should do, a hand appeared from the darkness and clamped over his mouth, and an arm encircled his torso.  With a muffled yelp, McCree felt himself be pulled back into the shadows, hips bucking like a bronco to try to break himself free.

“Don’t make a sound.” A rough voice whispered and McCree’s struggling died down.  If McCree hadn’t just been talking with that voice tonight, he might have just slammed his elbow into his attacker’s gut.  McCree nodded in understanding and he felt the hand twitch.  “I’m removing my hand.  Stay quiet.”

A pause.

“Remembering your arm, I believe that was a poor choice of words.” Okami continued quietly as he let his arm fall.  “That was unintentional.  No malice intended.”

“None taken.” McCree murmured back, glancing back over his shoulder at Okami.  The man was a head shorter than him, but had the strength an ox.  McCree didn’t doubt that, if Okami had the impulse, he could straight up cart McCree away to wherever he wanted, be it bridal style or in a fireman’s hold.  “What's going on, O?”

Whatever was going on couldn't be good.  Especially because now Okami was wearing his bow and quiver on his back.  Okami had armed himself and come to seek him out after telling him that they were done for the night.  There was no reason to seek him out unless some shit was starting to go down.

“There is activity in the night.  I feel they might try something.” Okami told him, hand idly running over the quiver’s strap looped around his front.  “You cannot go back to the stairwell tonight, Joker.”

“They'd corner me there pretty badly, yeah.” McCree mused.  It would be easy for them to overwhelm him with brute force if his shots didn't kill.  Thinking about a fight taking place there did not make for a pretty picture.  It’d be doable, he could hold his own probably, but it wouldn’t be pretty.  Something else Okami said caught his attention.  “You knew I was sleeping back in the stairwell?”

“I know where everyone is at most times.” Okami replied simply.

McCree nibbled his lip, unsurprised by Okami’s answer.  “Where do you suggest I hide out for the night?  Maybe barricade m’self in a closet?  Wouldn't be the first time.”

“You're welcome to join me for the night.” Okami replied. “No one will find us, I promise you.”

McCree just about jumped at the offer, barely holding himself from blurting out his approval of the idea.  Where Okami had been disappearing to at night had been a question lurking in the back of Jesse’s mind for a couple of weeks now.  To finally have an answer would be nice.  A more pressing concern was at the forefront of his mind, though.

“You think they're going trash the place looking for me?” he asked.

“They might.” Okami said with a one-shouldered shrug.  “I cannot be certain what they will do.  It is hard to guess what is on the minds of those that don't use them.”

“Shit.” McCree said, cursing under his breath, forgetting that, while surrounded by the silence of night, a whisper could be as clear as a shout.

Okami’s face grew concerned and he took a half step closer to McCree. “What's wrong, Joker?”

“I gotta’ go grab my shit from there.  S’got my name in there.” McCree let out a nervous breath.  “They see that, I'm in bigger trouble than before.”

McCree turned to take a step towards the stairwell.  He didn't even care about most of his crap that much.  He had his gun, his one-of-a-kind Peacekeeper, and that was all he really needed.  Losing the serape would sting, it had memories attached to it, but he could always find another.

His ID cards and his laptop were far more valuable.  He had to keep them out of sight.  If those goons found out that Joker was Jesse McCree, mister sixty million bounty, they would shoot him dead on sight, never mind whether or he had been paid the twenty k for this job.  The information Jesse had been jotting down in his laptop, the pieces he was putting together with each and every keystroke, and the access it had to databases were damn near priceless to the wrong man.  If they figured out what was hidden in his bags, then they would hunt him down tonight, tearing him apart and leaving nothing behind to be salvaged.

He turned, already heading down the hall.  Maybe he could beat them there.  Maybe they hadn’t found his things yet.  Maybe he’d make it out alive.

Okami reached out and grasped Jesse’s shoulder, keeping him from going any further towards the stairwell. “Don't.” he commanded, his voice stern enough to give McCree pause.  “One large backpack and one smaller side bag, black nylon and brown leather respectively.  Was there anything else?”

McCree turned fully to face Okami, his eyes widening.  “No, that's- How did you-  Wait.  Don’t tell me.” McCree crossed his arms over his chest in disbelief, taking half a step away from the man.  “You already went and snagged ‘em, didn’t you?”

“Well… Yes.” Okami said with a slow nod.  “I did not look inside them though.  They are sitting, unopened, in my quarters.”

“You already went and snagged them.” McCree said again with a sigh of relief, smiling under his scarf.  “You wonderful son of a bitch.”

Okami's eyes narrowed.  “Are you insulting me or is that a positive statement because your tone and words do not match-”

The realization of the danger Okami could have run into then crossed McCree’s mind.  What if those men had cornered Okami back in the stairwell?  What could have happened?  He'd rather not think about it.  He had only really gotten to know Okami for a day, but if something had happened to him, McCree would kill everyone else in this damn building.  “Why would you go and do that, O?”

Okami was silent for a moment.  “...Is that distraughtness or praise?”

“You had no reason to put yourself in danger for my shit.”

“I would be wondering if that's admiration or scolding, but I have given up.”  Okami said gruffly.  “There was nothing to fear.  There wasn't any danger.  I’m too good for in danger to have ever been an option.” He gave a quick glance down the hall. “Now, if there are no more pressing concerns, we go to where it's safe.  Follow me.”

Okami began walking down the hall, not bothering to wait for McCree.  Jesse only paused for a moment, marveling at the absolute silence of Okami's footsteps, before he shuffled along behind him, trying to make his booted feet walk as quietly as he could while still keeping pace with Okami.  He didn't want to risk falling too far behind him, because there was a chance he'd lose sight of him completely as Okami blended into the shadows.

They walked down a hall that McCree was sure that he had walked down a couple times before, because he had done an awful lot of pacing while on this job, but he had no idea where they were in the warehouse.  Concrete hallways had the nasty habit of looking like other concrete hallways, making navigating them a hell of a chore if a fella’ ended up getting turned around.  Okami eventually held up his hand, silently signalling for them to stop.  He was looking up.  Squinting into the dark, McCree knew that they were in a large room before his eyes adjusted to the darkness, for his footsteps echoed from one side of the space to the other.  When he could finally see what Okami was walking him towards, he paled.  

Before them stood a pallet racking system, the shelves ripe for storage if the factory was producing trinkets to fill them.  The shelves were tall, the tops sitting closer to the thirty-five foot ceiling than they did the ground.  McCree had seen these before, when he had purchased a thirty-six pack of whiskey from a Stashco warehouse store on their no-membership-required day.  He could really go for a drink right now.  Or thirty six.

“O, tell me we ain’t going up.” McCree said, eyeing the tall shelves. "At least tell me you got a ladder ta’ get up there.”

"Yes, we are, and no, I don't.” Okami replied simply.

“Tell me we ain’t climbin’ our way up.”

Okami shook his head.  “I can't.  That would be a lie, because we are.”

“Look, lie to me all you want, I don't care." McCree said.  "Just tell me we ain’t going to the very top at least.”

“We are not going to the top.” Okami said flatly.

His tone didn't escape McCree, the man raising a brow.  “Was that you truthin’ or fibbin’ ta’ me?”

“I lied.” Okami glanced over at him and saw a glare sent his way. “Oh, don’t give me that look.  You asked me to. I thought it would make you feel better.”

“Yeah." McCree said through gritted teeth.  "Feelin’ just peachy.”

Okami’s brows knitted tightly.  “Are you going to be able to stand this for the night?  Do you have a fear of heights that could prevent you from going up?”

“Nah, I ain’t scared of heights, it’s the fallin’ that worries me.  You’re just lucky I ain’t ‘fraid of short people.” McCree replied, hearing Okami hmph quietly to the side of him.  “Just ain’t too sure about my climbing skills.  It’s been awhile since I had to go straight up to anywhere without the help of an elevator.”

“I'm five foot eight, thank you.  And it is not a hard climb.  Are you thinking we climb up from pallet to pallet up to the top?” Okami asked, seeing McCree nod.  “No, look at the sides.  See those supports?”  McCree followed Okami over to large shelf, looking up at the zigzagging bars climbing the sides of the shelf.

“These make it more akin to climbing a ladder, or a jungle gym if you'd rather, as opposed to heaving yourself up from shelf to shelf.” Okami said quietly.  “Does this make you feel more comfortable about the situation?”

“A bit, yeah.” McCree replied honestly, placing his hand on a bar.  “Might as well start climbing now.  This thing ain't gonna get any shorter.”

Okami gave a slight bow, gesturing towards the bars, motioning for McCree to go ahead.  Slowly, McCree began climbing up the rack.  The bars on the side made it much easier to pull himself up.  Instead of climbing up three feet at a time from pallet to pallet, the side supports offered a new step for him to use every six inches or so.

This actually wasn't too bad.  Near the top, he chanced a look down.  The drop wasn't as bad as he figured.  It didn't look like a fun drop, no, but it wasn't  _quite_ as horrible as he had imagined.  Okami, looking smaller than ever, was watching McCree intently from the ground, his mostly-covered face just visible through a sliver of moonlight.

“Are you alright?” he called up.

“Better’n I figured, yeah.” McCree reassured him before he turned back to his climbing.  With just a couple more pulls, he had clambered his way to the very top.  He heaved himself up onto the top pallet.  He half crawled, half walked his way further onto the shelf, marvelling at how wide it actually was up here.  The lower levels were divided down the middle, but up here there was was pieces of scrap wood lain over the gap to cover it up.  Okami had done a nice job fixing the place up, or at least making it safer, all circumstances considered.

As he yawned, his ears picked up some soft taps behind him and he glanced back over his shoulder to see what it was. Jumping with a start, he gave a small shake of his head as he blinked, looking again to make sure that he was seeing right.  Okami was sitting behind him, watching McCree intently.  He was just right there when he should have still been down on the ground.  How-

“How the hell are you behind me?” McCree asked.  “I  _just_  saw you on the ground.  How are you up here too?”

“I climbed.” Okami said simply.

“Climbed, huh?” McCree said. “Climbed like a squirrel on a sugar rush.”

Okami raised his head at the half-hearted affront. “I can climb fast.  It is a challenge I set for myself.”

“A challenge?  You strike me as the kind of guy that likes a good challenge, now that I think about it.” McCree asked, turning fully and sitting down proper, legs lazily slung out in front of him.  “So, I gotta ask, did you grab my stuff out of the goodness of your heart, or was it just for the challenge?”

Okami slinked over, moving away from the edge with the grace of a housecat, his movements smooth and silent.  “Perhaps.”

“A perhaps is all I get?” McCree asked with a surprised laugh, rubbing at face tiredly.  “Aw, c’mon, O. Which is it?”

“Think it for the challenge if you wish.  There is no goodness left in my soul.” Okami said, taking a seat next to a large dark shape. “Whichever you think, just understand that they were good tools of bribery as well, to ensure that you came here with me.”

“You thought I wouldn’ come w’ya?” McCree asked, finding himself feeling surprisingly hurt by the insinuation.

“We’re both stubborn men, Joker.  I have no doubt that pride will be the death of us one day.” Okami said quietly.  “But not on this night it won’t.”

McCree glanced around on the hundred foot tall loft that Okami had made his home.  It was fairly spacious, with enough room width-wise for McCree to lay down and have at least a solid half foot out past his head and feet.  “You been stayin’ up here every night?” McCree asked, remembering to pull Peacekeeper out and click on her safety switch.  He was good at shooting  _from_ the hip, yeah, but he didn’t want to accidentally shoot himself  _in_ the hip while he slept.

“This is where I have been staying.  I usually try to scout for out of way places to claim as my own on jobs like this.  This is one of my favorites.” Okami said, his voice calm despite him tensing at the sight of the weapon, not relaxing until McCree slid her back in his holster.

“Mmm, I ain’t surprised.  You made it pretty, ah, pretty cozy up here, all things considered.” McCree responded, stifling a second yawn behind the back of his hand.  “Never thought I’d be so comfortable sitting ten thousand feet in the air.”

He caught Okami muffling what could have been an amused chuckle, and he would have had the thought to feel damn proud of himself if he hadn’t been so tired.  The late night tonight, and the long sleepless ones prior, were starting to catch up with him.  McCree’s words trailed off and his hand curled into a fist.  The exhaustion was starting hit him hard as his adrenaline faded.  

Being on night watch after fighting all morning and afternoon?  That wiped a man right out.

“Your bags are there.” Okami said, vaguely gesturing somewhere to the right.  “I am not sure if you can see them in the dark, but they are there.”

“Ah.  Thanks.” McCree said. “That’s good to-...to know.”

“You should get some rest.” Okami said, cutting McCree’s attempt at further conversation off and placing a hand on McCree’s shoulder.  When had he gotten that close?  “Come here.  Farther from the edge.  Closer to me.  Like that, yes.”

McCree trailed after him, letting Okami guide him up in their dark haven.  The man must have the eyes of a cat, considering that he could navigate their haven with the greatest of ease.  Pride be damned, McCree’d rather trust him than end up falling off this thing.  They stopped when they were closer to the middle, Okami gently making McCree have a seat once more, not that McCree needed much encouragement.  God, he was tired.

“There are not many hours ‘til morn.  Try to get some sleep now.” Okami said, reaching for something from his shadowed pile of things.  “You will need your energy for tomorrow as you will strength.  As will I.”

There was a soft click and then he was holding out a dark blob, clearly a clothing item of some sort.  McCree reached out and took it, unsure of what he was expected to do next.  Last thing this baby bird wanted to do was anger momma and get kicked out of the nest.

“You’re sleeping too, O, right?  There ain’t no reason to be keepin’ watch when we're up high enough to touch the ceiling,” McCree said, staring down at what was in his hand.  A jacket of some kind.  Well, heavier than a jacket, but lighter than a coat.  Something in between.

“Of course I will be sleeping.  Tying to, anyway.  This spot is quite safe.  The only negative is that there are those small windows on the walls that let much of the sun in, come daytime.  They are of no concern now.” Okami said, scooting back towards McCree.  He took jacket out of McCree’s unmoving hand and folded it up all nice and neat, and then laid out it somewhere behind him.

He then untied part of the cables from around his waist and hooked them around McCree’s torso, knotting the thick cord as tightly as he could.  “Pardon the bondage, but I’d feel much better knowing that you are only at risk of falling asleep, not of falling off.”

“I’d rather not have that risk either.” McCree stated.  “And, honeybee, there ain’t no need to apologize.  You can put me in any kind of bondage anytime you want.” he teased before his tired brain caught up with his mouth.  Once it dawned on him what he had said, he opened his mouth, but snapped it shut once he felt the stare he was getting from the other man.  There was a hand on his chest and he felt himself being pushed down onto his back.

“Sleep, Joker.  Close your eyes.” Hanzo said, heavily encouraging him to lay back on the jacket, his voice softening as he felt the other man grow more relaxed under his firm touch.  “Rest now, before your heart speaks all the things you’d best to keep to yourself.”

“Oddly specific warnin’.” Joker mumbled, that cocky look still lighting up his eyes, his focus drifting between the hand on his chest and Hanzo’s face.

“True, but whether drunk on alcohol or exhaustion, a heart tends share more than it should, if only to lessen its heavy burden for the night.” Hanzo said, removing his hand off of Joker.  “Out here, among men who wear masks to hide their faces, this is not the place to bare your soul.  Keep your thoughts locked up tight, Joker, and your emotions a mystery.  That is the only way to stay intact in a world like this.”

Joker raised his head just enough to meet Hanzo’s eyes.  The scarf had slid down, sitting askew on his face and leaving the left half bare.  Part of his lopsided smile was visible now, a tired grin playing on his lips.  “You know, you got a damn pretty way of speaking.” Jesse murmured, gently laying his head back down. “Shame you didn't start talking earlier.  Could listen to you talk ‘bout anything all night long.”

McCree stretched out, turning his face towards the makeshift pillow and groaning softly when he inhaled.  The soft fabric smelled faintly like a cheap laundry soap, with just a curl of smoke clinging to the outside, with a delicious headiness of masculinity permeating it throughout.  Lord above, it was intoxicating.  It was one of McCree’s favorite scents he’d ever come across.  Why did some fellas just have to smell so good?

It was comforting scent too.  Made him forget that he was fighting for his life tomorrow, made him forget that he was currently napping on a million foot-high penthouse of a hiding spot.  Once his eyes were shut, he began drifting off to sleep faster than a greased penguin on ice.

Hanzo watched Joker start to fall asleep, telling himself that he was watching only to ensure that Joker wasn’t a restless sleeper and that there would be no chance of him falling off their abode during the night.  That was the only reason.  It certainly wasn’t because Hanzo had caught sight of Joker had relaxing into the jacket, a smile ticking on to his sleeping face after he took a deep breath.  Not that at all.

“That is that is what I was warning against, you fool.” Hanzo murmured to himself, fondly watching Joker turn onto his side, burying his face farther into the garment.  “A man is never the only casualty of his own words nor his actions.  Someone else is always involved.”

He gave the cords wrapped around his waist a gentle tug, ensuring that they were tied securely to the both of them.  If there was any sort of situation, he should be woken up before anything could truly happen.  Joker was a restless sleeper.  He twitched a bit, mumbled incoherently, and flinched occasionally, but there were no big movements. Nothing that could knock him off. After watching for another few minutes, Hanzo was glad to note that the only consistent motion was his chest rising and falling.  He felt confident that their sleep would be uninterrupted, at least by outside sources, if only he could tear his eyes away from the other man long enough to close them and actually fall asleep.

Hanzo lay down, using his arm as a pillow.  He had been using his jacket previously, but that wasn’t an option for him right now.  Guests should have the best accommodations no matter what, and he didn’t mind his sleeping situation at all; he had slept in worse situations than this, with far worse company.  Here, in this heavenward haven with this angel of a man, he would manage fine

“...I just never would have thought-…” Hanzo continued his thought, pausing to shift slightly as he began to fall asleep, “...-that your casualty, your someone else, would ever be  _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping that you all really don't mind the use of the name Okami. Because that's sticking around for a bit.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always super appreciated!
> 
> Thank you for reading the first chapter and I hope to see you again soon! =)
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> P.S. Questions, comments, or concerns? Hit me up on here or on my OW tumblr: RocketKittenz.tumblr.com .


	2. The Reminiscing of Cowboys and the Dwellings of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 3 (And As We're Falling Faster) and 4 (same title as above) have been combined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None. 
> 
> Happy reading! <3

What a horrible night.  McCree had barely managed to get any sleep, caught between thinking of the stress of today and remembering the horrors of the past.  What he had gotten was no better than a cat-nap at best.  He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while and this hadn’t been the night’s rest he desperately needed.

McCree was fairly certain that the night had cheated him and cut-off a couple hours of darkness just to make him lose sleep.  He was awake, yes, but he didn’t want to open his eyes.  His lids were too heavy, and the sun was too bright.

Which was odd, the sun being so bright.  Normally his spot in the stairwell was safe from any sunshine, no matter the time of day.  Odd.

Coffee.  He'd feel better once he made a cup of coffee.  Well, he wouldn't feel better, no, but he'd at least be armed with something to face the day with.  He should get to the kitchen and make himself a cup or two or three.  Maybe he’d just chug the pot.  That was probably what he needed today.  A good ol’ pot chugging should do the trick.

Eyelids barely cracked open, he scooted towards the foot of the stairs, surprised at long it was taking.  Normally he would have found the steps down by now.  And, God, his body felt so heavy already.  How was he supposed to get through the rest of the day when he was already dragging?

He feet finally found the edge of the step or at least the short drop to the step, and he pushed himself upright, reaching blindly for the metal banister as he moved to stand, intent on getting up and heading down to the kitchen.

Something yanked the back of his shirt sharply, his head whipped back by the force.  He was dragged back a few inches and, in a panic, slammed his elbow back, ramming it back into someone who let out a pained grunt at the impact.  The other person shoved him down onto his back and he fought to sit up as something heavy and warm pinned his torso down flat, his neck being pressed down by an arm.

Calming shushes reached his ears, soothing him enough that he stopped mindlessly fighting back. McCree blinked a few times, his brain trying to catch up to what had just transpired and he found himself looking up into Okami’s gorgeously concerned eyes, the other man breathing hard as he rested his forehead on McCree’s.  He moved his forearms to bracket McCree’s head, leaning heavily on them as he rested.

“I take it you're not a morning person?” Okami finally asked, searching McCree’s eyes for a sign of recognition.  Hanzo needed to see if Joker was back.  If the man was still panicking and fighting, Hanzo needed to be ready to keep holding him down.  Luckily, it appeared that he realized what had almost just happened, judging by his sharp intake of breath and those widened doe brown eyes.

Hanzo should have expected this.  Pulling Joker away from his flat, gravity-friendly stairwell up to this tall hideaway should have had him ready and bracing for this sort of reaction.  He had tried to prepare for this, with tying a rope around the both of them so they were anchored together, but he honestly hadn't expected for Joker to have such remarkable strength in his core.

The biggest reason that Hanzo had woken up so suddenly was that he had felt himself being dragged across the platform.  He snapped awake from a dreamless, restless sleep just in time to find his partner about to plummet to the concrete ground below.

Slamming Joker back into the headlock of safety probably wasn’t the best course of action to take.  If he had been more collected, he probably would have guided Joker back towards him in a more gentle, more secure, though still imperative, manner.  

He hadn’t been collected, though.   This potential situation made Hanzo panic.  Badly.

“Nah, yeah, ain’t a morning person at all,” Joker responded with a tired laugh, his voice thick with sleep, as he looked up at Hanzo.  “Hitting the ground would have been a hell of wake-up.”

“You’re saying this wasn’t?” Hanzo asked, slowly pushing off of his elbows and sitting upright.  His legs tightened around Joker’s torso as he regained his balance.

“Oh, this was a hell of a way to wake up, yeah, but I can think of worse things than having a strong, handsome fella’ sitting on my lap being the first thing I see in the morning,” Joker said, his eyes roaming up and down Hanzo’s frame.

Hanzo cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the man beneath him, unable to resist returning the teasing.  “So you’re saying that you enjoy being under a strong, handsome man?”

Joker’s cheeks flushed red and he sputtered, unable to find a quick retort. Amused, Hanzo continued to lord above him, deciding that, since the man seemed content where he was, that he would feel just how muscular his core was.  It wasn’t like he’d get a chance later.

Perhaps, maybe, Joker would even appreciate the action.

He pressed his hand down on Joker’s torso, feeling not a set of rock-hard abs, but rather a stiff sort of armor layered under his shirts.  Kevlar, most likely.  It made sense for their line of work.

That vest explained why the cord cutting into his middle didn’t discourage him from moving because he wouldn’t have felt it through the armored vest.

That thing could not possibly be comfortable to sleep in.  The armor decorating his own torso had some flexibility to it so that he wouldn’t be restricted at all, and it still was a pain.  Joker must have been truly exhausted, for him to even attempt sleeping in this get-up.  He must be more than accustomed to wearing this stiff thing at all hours of the day.  Interesting.

Hanzo noticed Joker staring intently, his gaze dipping from his face, down to his hand, and back up again.  The look on Joker’s face was stunned confusion, a good look for him to wear as far as Hanzo could tell.

“You, ah, finding anything you like under there?” Joker asked, his face beautifully flushed as he stretched slightly, his hips shifting under Hanzo’s.

“Yes.” Joker swiped his tongue over his lips and swallowed thickly.  “A top quality bulletproof vest, I believe. Strong armor, if not.” Hanzo said, giving Joker’s torso a soft, approving pat before he began maneuvering off of him.  “Good choice.”

Joker was quiet for a moment, his lips twitching with unsaid words before he managed to speak.  “So the only reason you’re feeling me up is to judge my equipment?” Joker asked, his smile slowly falling. “And not even the good equipment I got down there?”

“You’re torso protection feels very solid.  It  _is_ good, if not great.” Hanzo replied, pausing as he slowly removed himself from the other man.  Shifting, he moved to sit next to Joker now, giving the man the freedom to sit back up, which he started to take advantage of.  “No, I was curious about how you were pulling me along as you headed for the edge.  That armor explains why the cord didn’t hurt you.  That answers my questions.  Mostly.”

He still didn’t know how fit Joker was under his disguise or his exact body type under the protection, but that didn’t seem like something he would be figuring out anytime soon.  He contented himself with the knowledge that he did have about Joker, adding the vest and not-morning person detail to the mental file he had on the man.  He then chose to busy himself with packing up his things, fetching the jacket he had loaned Joker last night and rolling between his hands in a half-hearted attempt at folding as he headed over to his makeshift suitcase.

As much as he hated to think about it, there was always a chance that he and Joker would be going against each other one day.  In their line of work, it was always a possibility.  

When that unfortunate day came, Hanzo was going to be ready.  He had to be.

It had almost happened once, at least until Hanzo had bailed on a team up in the Rocky Mountains.  He always ensured a twenty-four-hour pull-out agreement; if he didn’t like the team or their end-goal, or if he felt that this team had no symbiosis, then he wasn’t wasting his time.  He was good enough that his employers would agree to his terms, for they knew better than to piss-off a freelance assassin of his caliber. A small brawl with the competing crew and the sight of Joker working for them was all it took for him to exercise his pull-out and get out of there.  

The last thing he had heard, the team he had left were absolutely crushed in the resulting fights.  Considering it was Joker they were up against, Hanzo hadn't been surprised.

He respected Joker too much to go against the other man in a fight as stupid as protecting some gravelly land.  If the two of them had to go at each other’s throats, it was going to at least be over something respectable.  They were both too good to attack each other over someone else’s stupid rocks.

And the only reason that he was still on this job was because Joker was here.  He wanted to make sure that the man made it out of this hell intact.  Otherwise, he would have exercised his pull-out in the first five minutes of interacting with the three horrific animals wearing human skin.  

He had stayed in this hell just for Joker and he knew that it had been more than worth it.

Joker was certainly one of his favorite people to work with, and being able to talk the man into working directly with him felt something akin to a miracle.  Joker was a top-quality brawler of an extremely high caliber.  One of the best shots that Hanzo had ever seen.  He appreciated him for more than his fighting skills, though.  

Joker still had an admirable sense of honor with anything he did, a personal code of justice that he never strayed from.  There were no dirty kills.  Once Joker had won a fight, he didn’t unnecessarily brutalize or maim.  He took his win accordingly.  It didn’t escape Hanzo how Joker had looked at the near-children that had occasionally cropped up on the field with pity, viewing them as the sad cases they were instead of the obstacles to a paycheck.  

To put it bluntly, he liked the man.  Admired him even.  Idolized him in a scant sense, if he were to think about it.  

Considering that Joker was up here, after having spent the night alone with Hanzo of almost his own free will, with only a small threat of death helping to persuade him, maybe he could dare hope that the respect was mutual.  Though, to be fair, that was probably more than an utter trainwreck of a bastard like himself could ever hope for.

The horrors of their job here still stuck with him.  Hanzo had done as much as he could to let the young ones escape.  Sometimes it had been enough.  Sometimes it hadn’t.  They were young.  They hadn’t deserved this hell.  To have been manipulated from such a young age, molded to throw their lives away for fights that should have never been theirs…

How depressing a thought to ponder.  

How depressing a thought to relive.

Hanzo clicked shut the guitar case that he used for his suitcase, securing it as he let his mind idly run whatever way it wanted, even if it was against his wishes.  

“You play?” A country-rich voice asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He looked over his shoulder back at Joker.  “Hmm?”  He didn’t understand the question.

“The guitar,” Joker said, nodding his head towards the case.  “Do you play?”

“I do not play the guitar, no,” Hanzo said with a slight shake of his head.  “I play a different sort of instrument.”

Joker’s brows raised in curiosity and Hanzo decided to entertain his question, unlatching the case with a flick of his wrist.  He popped it back open and Joker, picking up on the invitation, moved closer.  Inside the case, Hanzo had carved some medium-thick foam to secure the sniper rifle he carried, one that was normally in pieces but Hanzo had left assembled for the job, giving himself a place to nestle it so that it wasn’t loose in the case.  In the lid of the case, Hanzo had added a spot to lock his bow into place using tight u-shaped brackets, and there were two hooks that he could shorten his quiver’s strap and hang it on.  There were some bullets for the rifle, and the materials for crafting new arrows, carefully packed away out of sight, and his clothes were rolled up into tight bundles so that they didn’t take up much space.  There was a pair of boots in the deep end of the case, thick and heavy leather, well-suited to his livelihood.  Unseen by Joker, there was a false bottom that Hanzo his other supplies stored into, ones that were tucked either into or next to a small backpack in the slot depending on the size.

Joker let out a low whistle.  “That looks like it’d be one mean looking rifle.  Didn’t realize that you ever used one.”

“I prefer the bow,” Hanzo said, feeling smaller than he liked as Joker leaned in close, looking over the world Hanzo carried on his back.  

He hadn’t shown this to anyone before.  This was an… oddly intimate moment for him, even if it meant nothing to Joker.  It made him feel vulnerable.  He didn’t like it.  

“Some employers would rather I have a rifle.  Sometimes a rifle is necessary, for certain kills.  There is not much I have found a rifle able to do that a bow is not, however.” he continued, closing the case and fastening it shut.  As soon as the case was shut and the piece of the world he called his own was out of sight, he relaxed.

“If those are your instruments, then you’re one hell of a talented musician.” Joker said with a smile, giving Hanzo a small nod of thanks as he left the man to his packing.  “I’m glad you and me have always been making music together on the same side of the field, Wolfy.”

There was a chance that, in a moment like this, Hanzo might have blurted out the reason that the two of them were always on the same side when they met.  He could have revealed how he had refused to go against Joker in the past.  He could have revealed that he would always join a team if he saw that Joker was already on it.

He could have, but he didn’t.  Something else had caught him off-guard.

“Wolfy?” He repeated, leaning towards Joker for emphasis.  “ _Wolfy?”_

“Ah, yeah, um… I didn't mean to- for-...Uh....” Joker clearly hadn’t been expecting this conversation to ever happen.  It was endearing, in a way.  Embarrassing for the both of them in another. “I know a lil’ bit of Japanese here an’ there.  Your name’s Wolf, isn’t it?  In English, I mean.”

“Yes, it is, you are correct,” Hanzo said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Even he wasn't sure how. “But Wolfy?  How could you have not meant to say that when it was what came out of your mouth?”

“I, ah, well, shit… This is embarrassing.” Joker said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.  “I sometimes call you Wolfy in m’head.  Like, oh, look, Wolfy’s on the team.  Or, there's my buddy Wolfy, saving m’back again.  I didn't mean to actually say it to your face, O.  Please don't be mad.”

Hanzo paused, tilting his head as he rolled Joker’s explanation around in his head.

“So a nickname, yes?” Hanzo asked, watching Joker try to read his expression.  Hanzo made sure it stayed unreadable on purpose.  Joker deserved to sweat for a minute.  “You have made a nickname for me, out of fondness and familiarity?”

“Yep.  Didn't mean to sound impertinent or nothin’, though.” Joker said quickly, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.  “If it bothers you, I'll try to stop using it.  Don't want to hurt you none.”

“Wolfy.” Hanzo tried the name again, seeing Joker visibly wince.  “I’ll allow it.”

“I hear ya’, and I won't use it again, O-”

“Joker,” Hanzo said, placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly, and getting his attention.  “I said I don’t mind it.”

“What?  Really?” Joker asked, his smile faltering for half a second when Hanzo pulled his hand back off of him so quickly.  Hanzo shouldn’t have been so forward as to put a hand on someone else like that.  Even for reassurance sake, assuming that he was right in thinking that was what people actually did for reassurance, that had been a bit much.

“Mmm hmm.” Hanzo gave a nod, gently loosening the bag’s strap off of Joker’s shoulder.  “I'd rather you didn't use it in front of others, but when we're alone together, like this, I won't mind.”

“I don't plan on usin’ it much, to be honest, but having your blessin’ means the world to me,” Joker said, grinning brightly as he hooked his bag back onto his shoulder once more.

“I have gone by the name Lone Wolf before too, and by Wolf too,” Hanzo explained, taking the bag back off of Joker’s shoulder.  “Some men don't bother learning how to say Okami correctly and it's easier to use an American name for those fools.  Wolfy is-...I don’t mind it at all, if used sparsely.”

Joker puffed proudly, happy to receive Hanzo’s approval, and swung his bag back onto his shoulder.  Hanzo swiped it right back off.  

Confused, Joker shouldered the bag once more.  Hanzo unshouldered it from him.  

Staring directly at Hanzo, Joker pointedly hooked the strap onto himself once more, daring Hanzo to continue this song and dance.  Meeting Joker’s stare, Hanzo dared - oh, he dared - and pointedly took it off of him.

“Alright, I give up.  Why're knocking my bag off?” Joker asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he glanced at the bag that had fallen next to him.

“You are not carrying those down with you.  Not from this height.” Hanzo said.  “I will take them down for you.”

“I can carry my own shit, O,” Joker said as he reached down for his bag.

“I would feel much better if I carried them,” Hanzo replied, placing his hand on top of Joker’s hand as it clenched the strap.  “You just focus on getting yourself down.  Please.”

A fire lit up in Joker’s eyes and his mouth opened in apparent protest.  The fire snuffed itself out just as quickly as it had been born, and Joker threw his hands up in defeat, handing the bag over to Hanzo.  He seemed to be a man that knew how to pick his fights.  An attractive trait, for sure.

It was then that Hanzo realized he was harassing Joker again.  He was reaching out and invading Joker’s personal space for the second time this morning.  It wasn’t even intentional, he had done it without even realizing it.  It wasn’t his fault that Joker’s personal space just seemed so wonderfully invadable.  He quickly righted the situation, removing his hand from the man once more.

“Suit yourself,” Joker said gruffly, standing up.  “If you'd feel better taking this than I ain't gonna argue.  You wanna head down there now?”

“We should, yes, it would be odd to be absent for long,” Hanzo said. “You’re usually stumbling around by now, groaning about that terrible caffeinated powder.  I usually show up whenever I want, so they won’t have a pattern established for me, assuming they even have the mental capacity to retain it.”

Joker's brows shot up.  “Worried about them getting suspicious?”

“Ehh.” Hanzo shrugged, the bored simplicity of his response amusing to Joker.  “While I’m sure it would take a neon sign announcing that ‘ _Punchline and Wolfy are on to your plan_ ’ for them to begin to grow suspicious, we best not chance it.”

“I’m the Punchline now, huh?  That ain't nothing new.” Joker said, fighting to keep the smile off his lips.  “Then I guess we best be getting on our way,  _Wolfy_.”

“Then start climbing,  _Punchline_ ,” Hanzo said, pointing to their way down.  “I’ll grab your things and meet you when you reach the bottom.”

“Don’t you mean that you’ll meet me when  _you_ reach the bottom since I’m going first an’ all?” Joker asked.  Hanzo stared at him, unsure if he was supposed to argue against the truth, which seemed to annoy Joker to a small extent.  Didn’t Joker realize that there was no chance that he was going to beat Hanzo to the bottom?

Joker blew out a breath and met Hanzo’s stare straight on.  “You know what?  You’ve been full of surprises.  You can talk for starters, which is mind-blowing enough, you’ve kept me from probably getting killed last night, you’re helping me try to avoid being killed today, you got my bags ‘fore I knew I needed them, you kept me from falling to m’ death, an’ you just flat out keep disappearing an’ then just appearing whenever you want like reality’s your own lil’ toy to play with.”

Watching Joker count on his fingers, exaggeratedly pulling them down whenever he got to the next item on his list, was amusing.  His point unclear, yes, a mystery even, but Hanzo was still amused by this spirited praise nevertheless.

Joker continued.  “You say that you’re going to meet me down there when  _I,_ mister you-can-go-first, reach the bottom?  Fine, then.  Fine.  You keep making me expect the unexpected, O.  So, go ahead.  Meet me when I reach the bottom, partner.  Surprise me.”

Finished, McCree began his descending climb, carefully taking his time.  He was in no rush to hit the ground, even if his pal Okami was.  Let the man surprise him once more.  It was bound to be the first of many if past experience was anything to go by.

Hanzo, now intent on beating him to the bottom, slipped Joker’s backpack onto his back and the man’s sidebag over his shoulder.  He had been planning on going down on the other side of the shelf, but, clearly, he now had to go for the faster option.  This was a matter of pride now; Hanzo had a lot of pride on the line. The corner support was a straight pole up and down the length of the shelf.  Hanzo began quickly descending down it, hand over hand, foot over foot, speeding downward with ease.  

“O, really?  Really?  Are the kiddie steps too easy for you or something?” Joker asked as Hanzo easily made his way past him.

Hanzo passed Joker and made it to the ground, and had a lovely view upwards, and he could have been content with that.  He was down here first, and he had Joker’s bags to hand off.  By all means, he had won.  He should have been content.

Content he wasn’t.  He could do better.  He could do more.  He had been raised to always strive for perfection.  Perfection didn’t come from an easy victory.  He  _had_ to do more.  It was that compulsion that sent him racing his way back up the pole, Joker’s bags placed gently on the ground before he took off.  The knowledge that he had only fulfilled his second best, that was partly why he began heading back up.  He could do better, yes.  There was another reason though.  He also wanted to demonstrate just how skilled he really was.  

“Aw, come on!” He heard Joker exclaim as Hanzo headed back up, the words sent a smile to his face.  “Once ain’t enough for you?  You gotta do it twice?”

Hanzo slung his guitar case over his shoulder and sped back towards the pole, his pathway to the floor.  Hand over hand, as quickly as he could, he passed Joker on the way down again.

“Really?   _Really?”_ Joker asked as Hanzo passed him for the third time.  “I said  _surprise me,_ not  ** _humiliate me_  ** _._ You look like you’re enjoying this too much.  _”_

He was.  This was fun.  A good muscle-aching, heart-pounding, breathless sort of fun, the addictive rush just flowing through his veins.  Last time he had felt this good, he had been laying down and paying someone else to do all the work.  This, though, this felt positively wonderful.

“Bet you’re feeling real proud of yourself,” Joker called down, speeding up now that he was closer to the bottom.  He dropped the last two feet, hitting the ground with a soft grunt.  He brushed off his clothes and then straightened up to his full height.

Hanzo smiled under his mask.  He did feel proud of himself.  That had been a good time for him, shaving a few seconds off of what he thought was his former best.

“Now I’d say I’d be a monkey’s uncle...” McCree said, looking Okami up and down, noting the smirk in his eyes.  “...But between the two of us, I believe that’s clearly you.”

Okami tilted his head a moment, processing McCree’s words, and looked over at him with a start when he figured out that it was a complimentary insult.

“ _I_ won.” Okami said proudly, apparently feeling that professing the obvious was his best defense.

“Hell yeah, buddy, you won big time,” McCree said with a grin, picking up his bags from where Okami had left them.  “You took first, second,  _and_ third.”

“I believe you got third,” Okami told him. “I only touched the ground twice.  Third place is handily yours.”

“Landing third out of two competitors?  Aw, gee, my mama’d be so proud.” McCree teased, his expressions growing more serious as the time for joking skated on by.  “So what’s the plan now?”

Hanzo readjusted his bag, taking time to think about the steps that they should take from here on out.  “We have to split up,” he said, the words creating a pit in his stomach as they left his mouth.  “The two of us showing up together could make them suspicious.”

Joker didn’t seem any keener on the idea than he did if the way his face screwed up was anything to go by.  “So you want me to head in first then?  Scout the place out?”

Hanzo’s heart started to beat faster, nearly racing at the thought of sending Joker into lion’s den, and his thoughts swirled through his head.  They had no idea when the other three were going to attack.  What if they ganged up now and struck them down earlier than anticipated, shooting them down as they walked through the doorway?  There was no way to tell what would happen until one of them went into there and assessed the situation.  

But which of them should go?  If Hanzo went, he could die.

Worse, though, if Joker went, he could be the one killed instead.

For the second time in many, many months, Hanzo panicked.  He regained his composure as best he could, as quickly as he could. Misguided emotional reactions were not fair to anyone.  Not himself, and not Joker.  “No.  You will not be going in first. I will.  If they ask, say you were packing up or some other thing.  Make something up.  Walk in there a few minutes after I go in.  Just remember that we cannot talk like this in there.  You and I are on friendly terms no longer.  Keep your distance.  I will do the same.”

“You sure?” Joker asked.  “I don’t mind being the one to go in there first, O.”

“But I do.” Hanzo said.  Joker’s face scrunched up as he processed the response.  “Just give me four minutes to make my way to the other side of the base.  Coming in from different angles should erase all suspicion about us working together.”

“Okay, that answered my question about ‘why’ you were going to make your way somewhere else.” Joker said.  “Now I gotta’ ask about the ‘how’.  How’re you gettin' ta' the other side of this huge place in four minutes?”

“I-”

“Not that I’m doubting you, O,” Joker said quickly, hands held up in front of him.  “Just wonderin’ is all.  Tell me your ways, oh mighty one, if you be willin’.”

Hanzo tried to suppress the amused grin that fought its way onto his face but failed.  “Alright, but only just this once.  I can’t reveal all my secrets.  Not yet.”

“I understand completely.  Trade secrets and all.  Must be tricky bein’ so damn suave all the time.” Joker said.  “Tell me just this one?”

Hanzo glanced over at the wall leading up to the half windows and then looked over at Joker, a scant look of mischief alight in his eyes.  “I’ll do more; I’ll show you.”

Not giving Joker a chance to respond, Hanzo raced over towards the edge of the room.  With a small hop, he easily scaled the concrete, climbing it with the ease of a gecko, making his way up to a shallow window high on the wall.  Once at the top, he had to carefully hold himself up with the fingertips on his left hand, for the sill wasn’t big enough for his whole hand to rest there, and simultaneously reach back for an arrow with his right.  Holding himself in place, he began prying the rusted window open with the arrow, grunting quietly at the effort of keeping that perfect balance of push and pull so he didn’t knock himself off.

It probably would have been  _wise_ to pry open these windows beforehand, before he was stuck precariously suspending himself this high above the ground.  Hindsight was twenty-twenty.  As long as he didn’t plummet and make a fool of himself, he could play this off as completely knowing what he’s doing and still manage to come out of this looking he had planned this to the end.

Joker was right.  It was tricky trying to be suave all the time.  Luckily, Hanzo usually seemed to find a way to manage.  This time was no different.

The window thankfully creaked open after a half minute of struggle, bestowing upon him the type of mercy unseen by a rusted window ever before.  A true miracle.  He hoisted himself up easily, pausing before he slipped through the window to look down at Joker, just to see his reaction.

“Could have just said you were going over the roof, O,” Joker called up, a smile clear in his voice.

“Impressed?” Hanzo asked before he could stop himself.  How could Joker not be?  There was no way he wasn’t impressed by this display.  It wasn’t his best display, no, it had been a bit sloppy, his teachers would have done nothing but belittle this performance as a sloppy mess, but Joker couldn’t possibly know that.  He had to be-

“Impressed?  Oh, absolutely. To hell and back.” Joker said easily, a wide smile on his face.  “You’re just constantly impressin’ me, time and time again, ya’know?”

A happy flush lit up Hanzo’s cheeks, and he looked away from the other man.  Despite all but asking for it, needing it, he hadn’t been expecting that much praise.  He hadn’t deserved that much either.  Joker’s words were still very pleasant to hear, nonetheless. 

Opting to end their conversation prematurely, for he could talk all day with Joker about anything, given the chance, Hanzo brought his focus back to the window.  Shifting carefully, fit himself through the window, pulling his guitar case behind him, and climbing up to the roof from there easily.

“Already taken your vow of silence back up?” He heard called up behind him, but he elected to pay no heed to Joker’s attempt at continuing a conversation.  There was no more time for that now.

Exchanging pleasantries was nice, and something he had missed, but he had a task to deal with.  He’d rather ignore the inevitable deathmatch, but ignoring a coming storm never changed the forecast; denial wouldn’t work here either.  He had to face this head on so that he, and Joker, could beat it.  The time for pleasantries had ended.  All his focus now had to be on preparing to win the coming fight.

McCree silently watched Okami’s feet disappear through the window, already missing the other man’s company the minute he was out of sight.  He took a seat against a wall, idly checking the time and wondering how long he should wait before he could join back up with Okami.  A few minutes waiting here and then he’d make his way to the kitchen and survey the situation for himself.  It didn't feel right sending a wolf in alone to a pack of hyenas; McCree would happily back him up as soon as he was permitted to.

Okami clearly had a sort of plan in mind, even if he hadn’t told McCree the whole thing yet.  It had just gotten to the point where McCree was willing to blindly trust him.  Everything Okami had done in the last twelve hours had been enough to convince McCree that he was really on his side and that he wanted the two of them to walk out of here alive.

A voice in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like the hoity-toity former Overwatch Commander Jack Morrison warned him that he tended to trust too easily.   _That’s how you lost your arm_ , he cautioned him.   _The more you shoulder on others, the more you’re inevitably bound to lose.  Think of how much you’ve already lost, McCree.  Are you willing to risk **everything** you have left on this man?_

Jesse kindly told that voice to shut up with all the southern manners and politeness he could muster at the moment.  McCree was a gambling man, and this gambler had nothing left to lose.  He’d gladly put all his chips on Okami’s square any day.  Double or nothing, Jack, double or nothing.

Jack had been dead for years now.  Now, out of all the times that McCree had been hoping and praying for advice from someone, anyone, he pops in just to diss the one friend he’s made.  

Well, maybe not a “friend” exactly, but Okami was certainly friendly at times.  He was like a wolf who was willing to play like a puppy dog, being nice and friendly in hopes that whoever he deemed worthy to associate would reciprocate; the wolf still had teeth, though, and if he felt threatened he would bite down and rip a man apart.  He was a powerful ally, but a dangerous one.  Thankfully it seemed that this wolf at least trusted Jesse to have his back.

Jack had also been a friend at one point, at least sort of.  It was back before Jack and Gabe butted heads one too many times.  It was before Blackwatch had been blamed for mistakes Overwatch made, courtesy of the media, and Overwatch wasn't allowed to offer any sort of corrections, fearful of losing their funding. It was before the explosion in Switzerland that taken away the most of the few friends that Jesse had left in his sad little life.

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck in thought.  Maybe it _would_ be best not to think of Okami as anything more than associate.  People that were friends with McCree had the strange habit of dying.  Gabe was gone, Ana deceased, and Jack was dead too.  The squads he had run with usually came back missing the members he liked best.  He started getting on friendly terms with the Overwatch team, stepping outside of his lil' Blackwatch box, and the base fucking exploded and killed God knows how many people in the two weeks after he had left

Friends of McCree’s didn’t typically live long.  It was why he stopped making them.  The few exceptions still alive, like Angela, Genji, and Fareeha, he’d left behind him a long time ago.  He still thought about them sometimes, because it was hard not to think about his closest friends, but he wasn’t going to risk whatever Godforsaken curse he had following him doubling back and taking them from him too.

He worked alone.  He had no choice.

For the first time in years, he was regretting it.  The feeling of loneliness that he had grown numb to over the years stung fresh.  He swallowed, choosing to ignore it.  That’d be a band-aid he’d rip off later, after the fight they were heading into was over.  

 _Focus, Jesse, eyes and mind on the target at hand_ , Ana’s voice commanded, reminding McCree of his upcoming brawl.  That’s right.  Right now, he needed to make sure that his head was in the game, not just for himself, but for Okami too.  He wasn’t losing Okami here, not to those stupid fuckers, not in this fucking stupid desert, not on this fucking stupid job.

Sitting here and being able to do nothing but think was killing him emotionally.  Truth be told, he didn’t have enough emotional energy left to waste like this.  He needed to stop.  Getting himself worked up over shit he couldn’t change would just hurt him and Okami in the upcoming brawl.  He worked on even breathing, a trick that Gabriel had tried to teach him to use whenever he began to get angry or frustrated.  Calming down would help.   _If_ he could calm down, that was.

In, out, in out, in, out. Relax.  

Try to relax.

Relax dammit.  

God, get to relaxing, dammit.

God fucking dammit.

It didn't work.  It never did.  It was only a trick that Gabriel had _tried_ to teach him.  McCree had never been good at it himself.  It hadn’t worked for him for years, not since he didn’t have Gabe to help walk him through the steps anymore.

 _Calm down and man up; you’ve got a mission to focus on_ , _**mijo** , _ Gabe told him, his collected tone as soothing as ever.

Yes, sir.  Right away, sir.  

Anything for you, sir.

McCree stood up, deciding that ten minutes was enough time to wait.  With all the self-loathing that had just gone down, it should count at least double.  He just couldn’t stand sitting around here anymore, not when Okami could be in trouble.  He had to make sure that his not-quite-willing-to-risk-calling-him-a-friend was safe.

When McCree made it to the kitchen area, he found Okami standing by the sink, focusing on cleaning out his flasks, using those as his excuse to be in the area.  Weasel was standing right next to him and jabbering away about some useless shit, probably thinking that Okami didn’t understand what he was saying, just using the conversation as a way to squirm closer and closer to Okami.  Seeing Weasel reach out and wrap his fingers on Okami’s arm just about made McCree burst a blood vessel.

Hell, he hadn't even gotten to do that yet.  Not that he had a reason to or nothing, no sir.

Judging by how tense he was, McCree was sure that Okami was just about ready to tear Weasel’s limbs right off.  When the shitstain stepped behind Okami, intent on closing any distance between them, McCree saw the fury alight in Okami’s eyes as he grabbed a dirty spoon out of the sink.  As curious as he was about how Okami was going to maim this motherfucker with a spoon, and how much he was sure he’d enjoy seeing it, McCree decided that it would be better if he stepped in and helped his partner out.  

They needed to stick to the plan.  They had a plan.  At least McCree hoped they did.

“Nuh-uh, no you don’t,” McCree growled at Weasel as he picked the scrawny man up by his collar, more than happy to use his size to intimidate the much smaller man. “Ain’t polite to make shit in a fella’s personal space, ratface.  Keep pushin’ an’ shovin’ like that, I’ll give you a formal introduction to the disposal.  We clear?”

“Yeah, yeah, we clear!  I-I, uh…” Weasel looked around as McCree held him aloft, stretching and beating his grubby mitts against McCree’s thick arms. “I’m just standing here, buckeroo.  Get your mitts off me and put me down before you get me angry.”

While McCree distracted Weasel, Okami took that as his chance to quietly finish up and slip away.  Content that Okami had made his escape, McCree put Weasel back down on the ground.  

“Smart man to not kick up much of a fuss.  Woulda’ been the last thing you ever done.” McCree told him. The look on Weasel’s face when he realized Okami left was a look that McCree was darn proud to have been a part of.  The smaller man grumbled and snatched a rusty fork off of the counter, using it as his belated excuse to need the sink.

Cloudburst pat the seat next to him in the ratty booth as Okami passed by, whistling sharply to get the man’s attention like one would a dog.  Okami paid him no mind, finding himself a quiet corner to occupy in the back of the room.  Over there he was alone as possible in this small kitchen, and with his back to the wall, no one would be able to get at him from behind again.  Okami was probably going to find it pretty therapeutic to tear these men apart.  McCree probably was going to enjoy it in some sick, twisted sense of vigilante justice too.  These asswipes needed to die.

He surveyed the room as Weasel exaggeratedly washed his fork, trying to pretend that he had needed the sink so that McCree didn’t haul his ass up in the air again.  It took a minute to decide where in the room he should wait.  McCree wasn't going to the booth, it was occupied by the men that he was going to be fighting in a bit.  That would just be awkward.  He couldn't join Okami on the floor.  That could be suspicious.  

In the end, he opted to lean against the counter as he waited for the sink, finding it a safe distance from the others as well as giving him an excuse to look nonchalant as he surveyed the room.  Lugnut and Cloudburst were glaring at Okami as he sat cross-legged on the other side of the room.  Weasel finished stroking off his fork and went to go join the others, in both sitting in the booth and glaring at Okami and McCree.  McCree returned the favor and sent a hell of a stinkeye in their direction.

“So how long y’all been working together?” He gruffly asked the other three, causing Cloud to jump.  

“Us?  Working together?” Weasel asked quickly, glancing around at the group.  “Never seen these schmucks before in my life.”

His laugh was nervous and he seemed bothered by the question.  Cloud seemed caught off-guard by the question, and Lugnut stood out by not expressing anything.  What a terrible bunch of liars.

“Ah, really, y’all seem ta’ work really well together.  I’m surprised.  Figured you all were buddies” McCree said matter of factly, willing to paint a target on his back.  He was supposed to be the decoy, might as well make himself an appetizing kill.  

None of them fellas seemed pleased at the insinuation if the menacing glares they sent McCree’s way were anything to go off of.  Cloudburst seemed to be getting up from his seat, a knife clenched in his hand.  He'd painted himself four times the target he meant to if those men were willing to jump him now.

Divine intervention had a different idea, though, for someone upstairs decided that McCree wasn’t going to die yet, not in this kitchen at least.  Footsteps echoed down the hall, soft-soled feet heading their way, grabbing everyone’s attention and encouraging Cloudburst to take his seat once more.  There was only one person that wore fancy shoes in the middle of a desert, and that was Mr. Bigshot’s - or whatever the name of whoever hired him was - personal assistant, Mr. Smallershot, or whatever the hell his name was.  

McCree didn’t make it his business to remember the names of men who flashed their blindly white teeth in a smile that felt nothing short of slimy, grinning widely as they talked about profitable slaughter and what a relief it was to have the problem dealt with. However they chose to say it, people still died, and they would hand off paychecks that were written in the blood of the deceased as easily as they would a enveloped paystub for a day’s work on a computer in one of their pristine cubicle cells.  

Mr. Grubbypaws paused when he entered the room, silently counting the number of people in the room.  A small frown ticked on his face when he realized that all their hirees were intact, which meant that they would all still need to be paid.  Poor man, he was only wearing a watch that cost double McCree’s salary from this job.  If he wanted McCree to pity him, then he’d very well have to pay him to give a shit.

He didn’t like men that equated death to profits, didn’t like fellas that laughed at bodies.  Made it his business to keep his head above water when it came to these kinds of deals because he was sure he wasn’t ready for whatever he’d see beneath the surface.  He hated this line of work and everyone in it.

Well, almost everyone.

“Well, hello, gentlemen.” Mr. Smilestoowide said, holding up his holographic clipboard for them to see, with a fake toothy grin blinding the men.  “I believe it’s the day you all have been waiting for.”

Weasel, Cloudburst, and Lugnut all straightened up, the knife falling from Cloud’s hand as well.  If they wanted their pay, none of them here were going to cause any trouble.  Those with the money would find any reason to dock you a wage or two.  Causing a brawl put a man on the naughty list and gave you coal instead of cash.  For now, as wages were getting added to accounts, he and Okami were safe from any sort of trouble.

For now.

Mr. Tinydick took this opportunity of a captive audience to spew some flowery bullshit that was supposed to make them feel good about leaving a hundred bodies behind them.  Undoubtedly, his boss had sent him in with a speech of thanks.  Those words were nothing more than congratulating an executioner on a decapitation well done, nothing more than a pompous man’s way of praising them for the blood-stained sand that meant his rusted buckets of a building were safe.

“You all have done a _spectacular_ job dealing with those scoundrels,” Said Mr. Crookedtie.

Scoundrels.  Riffraff.  Ruffians.  McCree had heard them all before, especially from the mouths of people like this.  They were just different ways of calling someone an inconvenience needing to be eliminated.  Of course, men like this talked too pretty too sully their voices with words like “murder” and “execution”.  

No, no, the targets that “needed to be dealt with” were always riffraff.  

Calling them anything better would be a reminder that they had been _people_.

“My boss is _very impressed_ with how efficient you have been these last two weeks.”  

McCree was certain that Mr. Whitebite’s boss was impressed with how this snotnose here licked his polished shoes clean every night too.

“And he considers his investment in you all _extremely_ worthwhile.  You all have _certainly_ earned your paychecks over these last two weeks.”

If this man emphasized any more words in this bullshit speech, McCree felt near certain that he might strangle Mr. Armanisuit to death with his own spun silk tie.  Anything to get him to just shut up and stop praising their sins.  That might put a dent in his paycheck, though, and he badly needed the money, so McCree talked himself out of it.  For now.

“ _Thank you_ for your dedicated service, gentlemen.” Mr. Snootsworth said, beckoning Cloudburst, the closest person, to come over and get the payment process started.  “It has been _such_ a pleasure working with you all.”

Cloudburst, Weasel, Lugnut pushed to the front and went through the payment process, which involved confirming their private accounts to Mr. Shinyshoes.  The credit process was a clean transfer for people like them, for the funds were nearly untraceable.  Dollar bills had serial numbers, but a credit was just a credit, and it was impossible to tell Adam’s from Eve’s.  That’s why there was a holds process, where the credits were suspended for a predetermined amount of time, just to make sure a hacker couldn’t drain an account as easily.

McCree stepped up next, scanning over the information on the pad.  Account number was right, this fake account’s name of Jack A. Marieyes was right, it all looked good.  A cool twenty-five thousand made its way into his account, five thousand more than he expected.

He looked questioningly at Mr. Snuff, though he didn't vocalize his question.  Talking numbers around hired killers on a crew was a dangerous game, especially when they found out they made less than someone else.  Then things could get heated.  They were already about to jump from the frying pan into the fire here in a bit, they didn’t need to put more fuel on the flame before they were ready to extinguish it.

“Consider it a _bonus_ for a job well done, Mr. Mari- Marie- Mare-...Mr. Jack, courtesy of my employer.” Mr. Dollarwilliam said quietly as he slipped McCree a cheap, burner holo-watch.  “An incentive to work with us _again_ in the future, if you will.  You'll be notified through this watch once the transaction completes.  Listen for the beep.”

McCree was ninety-nine percent sure that he wasn’t going to work with almost any of these people here.  Not Weasel, not Cloudburst, not Lugnut, not Mr. Fancypants, or his boss Mr. Fancierpants.  None of them.  Okami, though, he was a clear exception.  Given the chance, McCree would jump at the opportunity to work with him again at any time.  

Assuming the two of them were still alive and kicking later, that is.

Once his money was transferred, he stepped out of the way and let Okami step up and get his funds straightened out.  McCree watched the transaction take place, for a holo-board only displayed from one side and no one could accuse him of stealing information.  He was curious to see if Okami had gotten the same bonus as him.  The way that Okami glanced over at the man and tapped at a line with the back of his fingers because nails wouldn’t mess with the touchscreen nor leave a fingerprint, answered McCree’s question.  He had.

Mr. Snobsaurus, leaned in to see what Okami was wondering about and then started to spout the same excuse that he had given McCree.  This was clearly hush money they were dishing out.  Either they knew that Okami could actually talk, or they just paid hush money to what they thought was a mute man.

“- _Exceptional_ work on your behalf, Mr...-Ah, what is- here it is - Mr. N, and we hope to work with you again soon, should the chance arise.”

Mr. N?  Interesting.

The team’s payments were divvied out, and Mr. Starchedunderpants flicked off his holo-board, holding it behind him as he gave the group a slight bow.

“Once more, it has been quite the pleasure working with you all.” Mr. Rufflyshirt said with a small bow, apparently down bending over to kiss their asses one last time. “Your payments should transfer through in about an hour and a half to two, a moderate hold period, yes, but the best we could get for the number of credits transferring.  It should not, however, take more than five.  If you cannot confirm a payment after five hours, then you know how to contact us from here.  Do not hesitate to do so.  Have a pleasant afternoon, gentlemen, and if I never see you again, I wish you pleasant lives as well.”

Mr. Gasbag finally stopped talking and headed out of the room, turning his back to the group.  He was in no danger and he knew it.  If anyone here dared try anything, their funds would be canceled completely.  Another perk of doing credit transfers over cash deals was the delay between the transfer and the actual payout.

Two or so hours.  He and Okami were going to be attacked within three hours, probably two, depending on whether these fellas cared if the credits cleared first before they got to chopping.  Now, what was his next move?  Stay in this room and stare at everyone or wander around and make himself a target?  Well, considering that he was supposed to be the decoy….

He glanced towards Okami, seeking permission to leave.  The last thing he wanted to do was mess up a plan in the works.  He got more than permission, though, if the way Okami met McCree’s stare and then flicked his gaze towards the door was anything to go off of.  He hadn’t just gotten permission, he had gotten a silent command.

Heading out the door, McCree didn’t spare anyone a glance and he didn’t speak a word.  He walked out and just kept walking, not caring where he ended up.  When Okami had a plan, Okami would tell him or enact it himself.  He hoped that’s what would happen, anyway.

McCree kept wandering around the whole base, crossing through various rooms, and exploring different pathways, just to confuse a tail, stopping only when he saw his orange-suited friend crouching in front of him, clearly waiting for McCree to arrive.  

Wait, in front of him?  

But McCree had been doubling back, swerving, serpentining, and loop de looping around this maze.  How had Okami been waiting in his path when McCree didn’t even know where he was right now?

“How’d you beat me here?” McCree asked.  If his path had been that easy to follow, he’d like to know.  Losing tails had kept him alive before, it was not a skill he wanted to have grown rusty.

Okami was idly tracing his finger through the dust on the floor.  “I don’t know.  By all means, it does not make any sense.  How _did_ I beat you?”

McCree heard that teasing in his tone.  “You track me?”

“Hmm, maybe.  Would you prefer to think that?”  Okami’s finger drew decorative swirls in the grime, a childish rendition of the looping dragon tattoo on his shoulder.

“I-Would I what?” McCree asked.  “What d’ya mean by that, O?”

“I _was_ tracking you,” Okami explained, abandoning his swirls to instead drawing a curvy line in the dirt, the width of the line getting thicker as he dipped the end downward.  “But then I lost you a few minutes ago.”

McCree perked up.  “You did?”

“I did.  You are very good at misdirecting movement.  I just thought I would wait here until you crossed by me.  Your pattern was too haphazard to decipher.” Okami confirmed, doodling another curvy line, tapered thin at the beginning, but drawing the ups and downs of it opposite the last line, widening it when he took the end upward instead.  “I lost you when you- It was when you circled around the...large...bowl...thing.”

That stumbling at the end caught McCree off-guard.  “...The what?”

Okami stopped tracing patterns in the dust and looked down at the ground in thought.  McCree watched Okami’s brow furrow in concentration and frustration as he struggled to explain what he meant.

“The...The large bowl.  The-... It holds liquids.  Tons of them.  It is large and-” Okami stopped, waving his hand in front of him as if he could coax the word out of wherever it was hiding in his brain.  “The _Batto._ It is a _Batto.”_

He looked up at McCree, trying to see if that was one of the few Japanese words that he claimed to know.  It wasn’t.

“ _Yokusō_ A very big _Yokusō_?”

Nothing was coming to mind.

“Do you know what either of those?  In English?” Okami asked.  “I cannot find the word in English.”

McCree shook his head.  “‘Fraid I don’t know ‘em, O.  Either of them.”

Okami looked at him, brow furrowing further.  He was clearly ready to give it another guess but instead clamped his mouth shut with an audible click, bolting upright as he gave another guess.

“ _Baketsu!  Baketsu baketsu_ \-  Bucket.  It was like a bucket.” He said, looking for a sign of recognition in McCree’s eyes.  Finding none, he continued trying to explain.  “But it had no handle.”

“A bucket but with no handle?” McCree asked.  “And what size did you say it was again?”

“Massive.  It dwarfed you easily.  It is meant for holding hundreds of gallons of liquid.” Okami explained.  “That is why I lost you when you went around it.  It blocked you from sight.”

“A huge bucket with no handles that exists purely to be a container?  I got that right?”

“I believe so, yes..”

“So it’s a…” McCree grinned under his scarf.  “So, it’s basically a large bowl thing, then.”

“Yes, exactly!” Okami said, gesturing excitedly towards him, thrilled that McCree had a mental picture of his quandary, before freezing mid-movement.  “...Wait.”

“Wait, what, sugar?”  McCree knew perfectly well what he was going to say.

“Joker,” Okami said slowly as he crossed his arms over his chest, the enthusiasm completely drained from his voice.  “Did you just diagnose my question of a large bowl thing’s name as being a… large bowl thing?”

“Oh, well, you’re right.  By all means, it don’t make much sense, does it?” McCree said.  Okami, thankfully, instead of getting irritated, realized that McCree was ribbing him about his earlier ambiguity and accepted the teasing gracefully.

“Fair point.” Okami replied, “However if you know the English word, I’d appreciate knowing too.”

“You’re talking about the large bowl thing back in the conveyer belt room, right?  The one with all the pipes?” McCree asked, continuing as Okami confirmed it with a nod.  “Think the word you want in English is a vat.”

“A… vat?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“A vat?” Okami repeated, the furrow returning to his brow as his cheeks seemed to grow tinge pinker.  “What the hell kind of word is vat?  That’s a sound you hear when choking someone to death.  That's...That’s not a word.” He smacked the ground with a closed fist. “I demand a redo!”

McCree cocked an eyebrow.  “You mean you wanna guess the word again or you wanna replace the vat word with something else?”

He glared up at McCree.  “That vat word, as you called it, is unacceptable.”

McCree had the darnedest feeling that Okami was feeling just a tick embarrassed about not being able to think of the word in another language.  McCree could sympathize; sometimes he forgot a word in English and could only remember it in Spanish.  He didn’t throw a fit over it, though.

Someone wasn’t very good at taking his losses, it seemed.  If it would make O feel better, though, McCree had no problem giving the man what he wanted.

“Basin.  How’s about a basin?” he offered.

Okami tilted his head in thought, looking up as he rolled the word around in his head.  “That word is respectable.” he conceded.  “It will do.”

Jesse was living for the way Okami’s cheeks flushed deeper.  It was oddly adorable.  But McCree thought it best to give the man some mercy, and present the peace offering of a subject change.  “So do we have a plan to deal with these other guys or are we just making this up as we go?”

“I have the outline of a plan, but I feel it is for the best to make it up as we go,” Okami said, snatching at the opportunity McCree gifted him.

His answer caught Jesse off-guard.  “Really?”

“Hard to plan for men who don’t,” Okami said with a simple shrug.  “If we go in fixated on one route and they take that from us, I feel we will have trouble with creating a new one quickly.  If we go in with the thought that we will be on our toes, then we will be nearly all the way to the next step of where we think on our feet.”

Those phrases didn’t usually get used together like that.  McCree was getting the feeling that Okami and American sayings just didn’t get along that great.  Bless his heart, though, he tried.  He was close enough anyway.  He spoke nearly flawlessly, as good as any other English speaker McCree had ever heard.  It was only when the guidelines were fixed by someone else that he stumbled.

“So what’s the outline of yer’ plan?” McCree asked.

“There are two types of arenas we could set ourselves up in.  Outdoors gives me the opportunity to snipe from farther away but gives them a chance for lobbing the poison bombs.  The spinning gun would also be a problem out there, for it has a wide spread of fire and a good distance.  If you can outpace it, though, then that denies them the perk.” Okami said.  “Indoors, if we settle into one of the factory rooms, we’ll have far more cover.  The large gun will be unwieldy for quick rotations, so if he even brings it the gun will be hard for him to maneuver, so he’d be reduced to his machete.  It would be too risky to use the poison indoors unless he wants to betray his teammates, in which case they would turn on him first so that is unlikely.  Just watch for the shotguns and the knives.”

“Indoors sounds like the better place to be,” McCree said.  “And I can take advantage of cover.  The close range works better for Peacekeeper too, ‘cause she shreds through fellas up close.  Distance is her weak point now after a spring popped.  I’m still working on fixing that.  What about you?  Would indoors work for you?”

“Indoors _can_ suit me.  Mid-range works for my bow too.  And I can handle up-close combat hand to hand if it comes to that.” Okami said.  “As long as we use one of the workrooms with a catwalk as our location, I can start up there.  I just need the room to maneuver from a distance.  The room with the basin would be a good choice, actually.”

McCree grinned at him.  “You mean the vat room?”

 

Okami looked at him curiously, his face shifting from blank confusion to feigned annoyance.  “The chance that I abandon you as a decoy grow stronger every time you open your mouth.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that.” McCree grinned. “You _love_ me too much.”

All the teasing McCree had planned left his brain as another blush lit up Okami’s cheeks and his mouth slammed shut again.

Oh.  He hadn’t been expecting that.  Clearly, judging by the wide look in his eyes, Okami hadn’t been either.

“It would be idiotic to leave you to die, yes,” Okami said quickly, too quickly.  “You are… You matter to me.  You are a good person.  There are few good men anymore.  Why would I hang the one I have found out to die?”

 

“O, buddy, listen, you’re a good person too,” McCree said.  “I saw the way that you let those kids run-.”

Okami snapped at him.  “I’m not a good person, Joker.”

“You are a good person, O,” McCree said, confused by Okami’s sudden, sharp tone.  His blood was too spread out for rapid-fire changes in thought.  He needed a minute and he wasn’t getting one.

“I’m not.  Don’t speak so confidently about things you know nothing about.” Okami cautioned, his tone edging towards dangerous.  “Those will be the things that catch you off-guard and destroy you in the end.”

“O-”

“Go set up in the basin room.  Vat room.  Whatever the hell it is. I don’t care.” Okami ordered, waving him away as he got to a stand.  “Make them come find you.  Be ready for a fight.”

Hanzo walked off without another word, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway once more.  He didn’t look back behind him, didn’t care if Joker had anything else to say.  If Joker was just going to keep arguing about something that he knew _nothing_ about, then Hanzo wasn’t going to stick around.

Making his way to the basin room, Hanzo surveyed the space and plotted out how to direct the fight.  Engaging from a distance meant that he could sway the direction the fight was heading one way or the other, he just had to decide where he wanted it to go.  

Satisfied with his brief look-around, he made his way to the ladder up to the next level where the controller’s room lay.  Joker’s words echoed through his head as he climbed up the rusty ladder rungs.

“ _You are a good person.”_

He wasn’t a good person.  

People like him didn’t deserve to be described as _good._  That was for nuns, for children, for men that changed the world around them, for men that still had morals as they waded through a wasteland of villainy.  That was for men like Joker.

Hanzo wasn’t a good person.  He had killed for the clan, killed his brother, been trained to be nothing but a killer.   Once free from the clan, he had no choice but to keep walking on a path soaked in blood.  He had no other training, he had no other skills he could use to survive.  He had tried and he had failed.  Being a bounty hunter and a gun for hire was all he had.  It was all he knew.

He wasn’t a good person.

A good person would change the world with his skills.  A good person would find a way to help those in need.  A good person was someone that people looked up to.

He tried to protect those around him but didn’t care for those beyond his sight.  He let children escape, but still killed men.  He still had bloody hands, no matter how many good acts he did to try to wipe them clean.

He wasn’t a good person.

_“I still have hope for you, brother.”_

Genji had said that to him back in Hanamura, back on the day that Hanzo should have died by his hand.  It would only have been fair.  A death to reclaim the honor he had once lost, that would have made him content.

Instead, Genji had left him to struggle and find his own path, a sentence far more punishing than death ever would have been.  Genji still believed his older brother to have some good in him, somewhere deep, deep down.  He still believed that Hanzo had a chance at redemption, that Hanzo could help change the world.

But that miscast hope didn’t make Hanzo a good person.

And now someone else he admired looked at Hanzo and actually saw him struggling to better himself.  They saw he was trying so hard to change, they didn’t dismiss him as a failure.  It had been so long since some had not only seen potential in him but also encouraged it without dismissing him and his efforts as hopeless.

Hanzo paused in front of a grime-covered window in the control room, barely able to see the basin room on the other side.  His reflection looked back at him, searching for something.  He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for.  He just felt there had to be something that he was missing, something that had infuriatingly escaped his notice.

What did Joker and Genji see that he didn’t?  How did they look at him and think he was someone good?

All he saw were the same dark stare he saw every day, his eyeliner smudged into war paint around his eyes, and a face he covered out of fear and shame.  All he saw were the hands that had destroyed lives, hair cut short out of guilt, and a damning tattoo he covered under an armored sleeve of blue and orange.  He didn’t see anything worthy of redemption, of any sort of second chance.  

He still fought, though, no matter how hard the battle of living was.  He had to for Genji, he didn’t want to disappoint him yet again.  How was he supposed to know that it would be the hardest thing he ever had to do?  He wiped angrily at the grime in front of him with his arm.  Smearing the dirty control window hadn’t helped too terribly much with the view, for the dirt still caked the outside of the window, but at least he could see out of it somewhat better now.

Hanzo remembered that he had scolded Genji back in Hanamura, shouting that life wasn’t like that stories that their father had told them.  He idly wondered if Genji understood what he had meant by that.  Their father had told them stories of brave men protecting their villages and their people, stories of dragons and mystical spirits guiding others with their knowledge.  They had been told tales where, when the story was finished, the main character was a good person who had saved the day and slain the evil, remaining a picture of perfection and flawless morals.

Everyone was the main character of their own life story, and everyone was supposed to be the hero of their tale.  When Hanzo looked in that mirror, all he saw staring back was a villain.  He was the bad guy of any story he touched, the flaw that corrupted their tales.

And he had accepted that.  He was the bad guy.  The flaw.  The mistake.  The obstacle.  He owned his role.  It was all he could do.

Accepting his life as the perpetual antagonist had even granted him freedom, and was even one of the most freeing things that he had ever done.  He no longer cared what others thought of his looks, his attitude, his social standing, anything. Their will no longer had a hold over him now that the only person he wanted to please was himself.

 _“Hanzo, Genji’s ear piercings are unbecoming, don’t you think?”_ the elders had said.

That had been a disguised order for him to not indulge likewise.  Now he had a handful of piercings decorating his body and he doubted he would stop there.  He was already planning his next, either another one in his ear or one in his tongue.  Maybe both, who knew?

His body had been a canvas forcibly painted by others wielding the brush.  Now that brush was in his hands and he was going to decorate himself however he wanted.  He was now even allowed to desire things for himself, to want.  The look he now wore he had admired from a distance for years.  The Shimada clan was known for being traditional, their image a delicacy to maintain.  The others clans would have taken him, and by association the clan, less seriously if he chose to exist this way back then, with his clothes, hair, and body adorned in this manner.

He would have wanted to do it anyway.  Genji’s act of rebellion had always been something he envied; if he had been less in the Clan’s grasp, and had been able to make the choice for himself, he would have followed suit and held a proud middle finger up to their rigid standards of everlasting conformity.  That’s why he had never been given a choice in the first place.

It was in this self-appointed villain role that he finally felt like a person.  He finally felt whole.  He finally felt like a person again, and not some puppet playing out his fake heroic role in a staged show for nothing but condescending, false approval for his obedience.  

The heroes had standards to live up to, expectations in personalities and appearance to meet, morals to teach, lest they be dubbed failures. The villains were free to live for themselves, to look how they wanted, to say whatever they pleased.  They didn’t have to end on any moral high ground to succeed.  They could just exist and struggle and that was fine.  

He was the bad guy and that was okay.

He wouldn’t say that he liked himself all the time, he was at war with himself constantly, and he refused to completely forgive himself either, but it was here in this role that he belonged.  It was here in this role that he was finding a path to heal.  Heroes didn’t need to seek redemption; villains did.

Perhaps one day he would work his way back to being the hero of his story.  For now, he was his own worst enemy and the challenge that he had to conquer before he could really move forward.  As long as he set the bar low enough, maybe he could finally surpass someone's expectations, even if they were only but his own.  Until he could begin clearing his own self-inflicted hurdles, he didn’t see how he was supposed to help others swim with the current events when he was struggling in the ocean of life too.  To hell with them, he wasn’t ready to drown for people he didn’t know.

That probably didn’t make him a good person either.

And he wasn’t a good person.

But he was trying his best.

Below him, he could see Joker getting into position.  He was impressed that the man even showed.  If Joker had stormed off issuing orders in anger the way that Hanzo had, Hanzo wasn’t sure that he would have done the same.  Joker either blindly trusted him, or he was ready to take on a team of mercenaries by himself fueled by nothing but pure fury and disdain for their entire existence, or he had no other idea what to do and had just shown up because that was the last thing he had been told.  

If Hanzo had to guess, he’d say it was the misplaced trust; Joker was a very intelligent man in an array of situations.  Hanzo had seen this many times before. Joker just didn’t make a show of his wit, seeming to prefer catching his opponents off-guard when they least expected him to act.  

Ultimately, he was a clever man.  A clever, clever man.

Hanzo remained where he was up on the catwalk, staying in the shadows of the upper lever perch he had claimed.  Best to not let Joker know where he was yet.  The man could give him away if he looked up to him for help.  Joker was a smart man, but staring fear in the face could make many a man stupid in his acts; panic was the Medusa of one’s IQ, causing thoughts to turn to stone and primal instinct instead becoming a dimly lit guide out of the dark.

Joker always turned his fear into an opportunity, though, thriving off the adrenaline rush to profit off what should have been a poor man’s situation.  In fact, Joker’s Achilles heel seemed to be that he was terrible at knowing when to pull back from a fight.  Almost everyone he engaged he saw the need to finish, no matter how dangerous it was.  If he learned to pick his fights better, instead of committing to them all, then he would be close to being the perfect fighter.

Not as skilled as Hanzo, no, but not many were.  

Still, Joker was good.  Very good.

Hanzo checked the time on both his holo-watch and his burner phone, to make sure the times they gave coincided.  It had been close to two hours now, what with pursuing Joker, losing Joker, finding Joker, leaving Joker, waiting on Joker, watching Joker wait for him.  Looking back, Hanzo could clearly see where his priorities lay at the moment.

Odd, it hadn’t felt like it had been that long.  There was something about that man that just made time seem to fly by whenever Hanzo was with him.  Clearly, as dull as it had been the last few minutes, he should have spent more time with him.  Instead, Hanzo had just stormed off like a brat.  He was going to have to apologize for that behavior later, assuming that they were both alive.

Joker was pacing around the room, fingers drumming against his thigh, tapping their song out just south of his holster.  He was nervous, and probably craving a cigarette if how frequently he sneaked off alone to smoke was any indicator.  If Hanzo didn’t feel compelled to keep his face covered, he would have gladly joined him for one.  He would just have to smoke alone later if he still wanted one by the time he had the chance, barricading himself away from people once again.

Maybe one day he’d get the chance to join Joker up on a roof, or in a car, or outside somewhere private, or somewhere they could smoke indoors, and the two of them could just be together.  Just two friends enjoying a smoke break together.  That was the dream.  Just a few minutes of a normal life somewhere, without blood or death, just casual conversation without the need for mistrust and secrecy. That was all he wanted.  

Just give him a taste of the safe, homey life he’d never have.  Just a sip.  He’d be content with that.  That one small moment was his dream.

A fool’s dream, really.  He’d live a normal life just as soon as a dragon could vanish from his old life to live as a wolf.  It was something that his destiny had decided an impossibility.  How could dare lay claim to something that was never meant to be his?

A shrill scream of a rusted door crying bloody murder about being swung open caught his attention.  Heavy footsteps echoing through the room thrummed in his ears.   An angry shout had him notching an arrow in his bow, ready for a fight.

The other three men had decided to show their faces and begin their attack.  Far too soon, the time for death had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, and general feedback are super appreciated! <3
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami


	3. Simple Arithmetic Saves Lives, But Simple Geometry Ends Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zoinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> *Slurs.  
> *Sexual assault mentions.  
> *Some mild body gore described.  
> *Death. =)
> 
> Happy reading! <3

The three men all stood in the doorway, armed to the teeth and looking ready for a fight to the death.  

The large one had his gun ready, his machete in a holster on his shoulder, and a massive bullet-proof vest covering his torso.  The thin, wiry one had his shotguns at the ready, wearing chest protector that protected the upper half of his torso. The smaller but stockier one was decked out in black coveralls, his Glock at the ready and his grenades waiting on his belt.  

There was no attempt to disguise their intent.  That was unsurprising.  Subtlety had never been their strong suit.

Those three men had to have names, he was sure, but Hanzo didn’t really care enough about these men to remember them.  Names didn’t really matter at this point anyway.  Names of the dead of this sort of ilk never really did.

Them being here already was a surprise, though.  The payment hadn’t gone through yet.  Those men were early.  Apparently, they decided not to chance the possibility of him or Joker leaving before they could be killed.  

Cheeky.

“Well, howdy fellas.” Joker said to the group, bringing his hand to rest on his gun, “To what do I owe the pleasure?  From the looks of things, I take it you’re not here to ask me to join you for celebratory drinks or nothin’, right?”

“Oh, there are gonna be some celebratory drinks alright,” Weasel said with a dark smirk.  “Funeral’s were made to be fun.  Hell, fun’s right there at the beginning of the word.”

Joker took a step back, playing the role of a confused, caught off-guard man perfectly.  The tight, concerned knit of his brow seemed to inspire confidence in the trio, and they took a step forward.

“Whose funeral we talking about here?” he asked.  He was laying it on thick a bit.  Of course, he’d have to lay it on as thick as concrete for them to get caught in the bait.  They considered themselves too smart to be fooled by a trap like this.  Convince them that they completely had the upper hand and they’d never doubt it afterward.  

He had them caught in the trap hook, line, and sinker.  Good work, Joker.  Good work.

“Gonna cut you up real pretty, boy,” Lugnut said, taking another half step forward, his machete held out towards Joker’s face.  “Gonna make sure it’s closed casket.”

Joker reached out and gently pushed the blade aside.  Cocky but commanding.  A display of a grasp of power over the situation. “How’s about we don’t cut me up and just say we did?”

Joker starting negotiations first cemented himself as the weaker party, as the one who needed to make a deal with them.  He was building up their arrogance for the perfect knockdown.

“Nope.” was all Lugnut said in reply, realigning his machete back with Joker’s maw.

Their collective movement actually wasn’t the best thing, now that Hanzo resurveyed the field.  If this one-sided waltz continued, Joker was going to be boxed in the corner and be an easy shot.  Hanzo should redirect them somehow here soon, though he wasn’t sure where yet.  Out of the corner, at least.  Redirect them towards the wider part of the room.  That was his goal.  The rest of a plan would have to come later when he thought of it.  He was still working on that part.

Deciding how to act was easy, deciding when to act was harder.  The trio was still too on-guard, just a touch too cautious to act just yet.  Joker needed to get them talking.  Once the rat-faced one began talking, he was hard to shut up.  If Joker encouraged the chatter, then their guard would drop exponentially.

“Now what’s this all about?” Jesse asked, swatting at the knife again.  “Y’all ain’t got no reason to want me dead.  What the hell could you possibly gain by killin’ lil’ ol’ me?”

“Twenty thousand or so credits for starters.” Cloudburst said.

“What?  Didja’ all not get paid or something?” McCree asked.  “Your momma ever tell you that freelancin’ don’t mean that you work for free?”

Ooh, an insult.  Interesting approach.  Build up the tension by stoking the fire; Hanzo hoped that Joker just didn’t end up burned.  They were so close now.  So close.  All Joker needed to do was get them talking.

McCree’s lip curled into a snarl as he stared down the three men who wanted him dead as a doornail.

Get them talking, Okami had said.  

It’ll be easy, Okami had said.

McCree was starting to think that he liked the guy better before he ever said things, like things that ended up getting a knife stuck down his throat.

Just how much talking did Okami want exactly?  McCree wasn’t exactly able to sit down and chat over a cup of coffee right now.  Every sentence that he managed to get out without being stabbed was lucky enough.  Getting them chatting was gonna be hard.

Hopefully, O had a Plan B coming together because Plan A might not be enough to cut it before McCree got cut up.

“An extra twenty k never hurt a man,” Weasel said, toothy grin on his face.

McCree held up his hands.  “Wait, wait, wait.  Only _one_ of you’s getting the money?  You rock paper scissoring over it or something?”

The trio looked at each other in confusion, glaring back at McCree. Weasel looked down his nose at McCree. “No, we’re splitting it, dumbass.”

“Well then, none of y’all here’s getting twenty k,” McCree said.  “Gotta split the money between y’all, y’know.”

“Yeah.  We know.” Weasel said, reaching for the gun strapped on his back.

Any minute now would be great, Okami.

“Well, which of you’s getting the extra cash?” McCree asked quickly.

The trio paused again.  “Extra cash?” They all said at once.

“Twenty don’t divide up even for three of you, less Okami’s in on this shit with you,” McCree said, arms still held up by his head.  “One of you’s getting more.  Which one of you is it?”

There was an angry growl from under Cloud’s mask.  “The hell does it matter who gets it!?  We’ll figure it out when we get there!”

Weasel quickly held up his hand, smacking it back against Cloud’s mask, demanding silence.  “No, no, he’s right.  We should figure this out now.  Now which one of you schmucks can math fast?  What’s twenty thousand divided by three?”

Cloud crossed his arms impatiently.  “More time we waste here, more time that O-cunt guy can get away.”

“Just shut up and math,” Weasel said, waving him and his concerns off.  “S’ a five thousand for each, innit’?”

“Nah, that’s only fifteen,” Cloud said.  “Should be more like six or seven.”

“Seven’s too much.” Lug said.  “Six thousand and some.”

“Six thousand six hundred and sixty-six, actually.  A fitting number for y’all, really.” McCree offered helpfully.  “That leaves an extra two bucks for one of you or an extra buck for two.  Either way, someone’s missin’ out.”

“I’m the leader, so I get it,” Weasel said haughtily.

“ _YOU?”_ Cloud huffed.  “Who the hell made you the leader?”

“ _I_ did,” Weasel said.  “I was the only obvious choice.”

There was a rush of foggy air out of Cloud’s mask. “Like hell you were.”

Any time now would be _wonderful_ , Okami.

“Would-” McCree gulped as they all glared his way.  “Would now be a bad time to tell y’all I got a bonus?  Actually was paid twenty-five k.”

“ _You were what?”_ Cloud growled, fingers tightening around his pistol.  “Shoot him.  Kill him.  I want to shoot him.”

Weasel swatted at his hand.  “Hold on a second, Loudworst, we need him.”

“We do?” he asked.  “Why?”  McCree had the same sentiment, though he was thankful that someone needed him for something, especially if it bought him a few more seconds of time.  Just, why?

“Well _someone’s_ gotta do the math again,” Weasel answered, pulling his shotgun out from his back holster.  “So, Joker, be a friend and divvy up twenty-five by three real quick  Surely this one’s gotta work out.”

“A friend, huh?” McCree asked with an incredulous laugh, eyes flicking up as his mind worked out the problem.  “Twenty-five by three’s...seven...no, eight.  Eight thousand three hundred and thirty-three-” The shotgun was shoved against his chin, so he spat out the rest of his answer. “-Plus an extra buck for one of y’all.”

The trio collectively groaned.

“Mine,” Weasel said quickly, staking his claim on the single credit.

“No, it ain’t,” Cloud growled, clearly willing to fight for it.

“You two are idiots,” Lugnut said.  “Just kill him and then we find the other guy.  That’ll be forty-five ta’ fifty grand to split up.”

“It’ll be fifty,” McCree interjected.  “I saw him point to where my bonus was on the paysheet, so I figure he got one too.  Coincidently, fifty don’t divide up neither.  Forty-five would have, but fifty leaves you some extra for one of you...”  Time to play with fire apparently. “...So who’s getting it?”

“ _I_ am,” Weasel said forcefully.

Lugnut sniffed indignantly.  “No, you ain’t.”

“That ain’t your call, pork roll.”

“Ain’t your call to claim it neither.” Lug said, looking towards McCree.  “You got any clue where the other guy is.  I’m willing ta’ let you live and leave you with the extra left over just to shut him up.  Do you know where Okoko is?”

A wicked grin lip up Weasel’s face.  “Gonna have some fun with him, oh boy, oh boy.”

“Guessin’ you don’t mean you’re playing a round of checkers or somethin’ with him for that fun, right?” McCree asked, snarlin’ at the men- No, not men, animals, beasts -  at the beasts in front of him.

Cloud laughed, his squealy chuckle a horrendous sound.  “Nah, we’re gonna have some fun before we off him.  Man’s too uppity even if he’s a fucking mute, needs to take some dick from some real men.  Maybe we all go at once even.” Cloud looked back towards his companions, clearly more than ready to stake his claim here.  “I get the mouth.”

Fucking hell. They were going to pay with their lives before they touched a hair on Okami’s head.  McCree would make sure of it.  Assuming he wasn’t dead first, that was.

“And you want me to tell you where Okami is?  So you can rape him?” McCree asked, undisguised fury in his voice.  “I don’t got no clue, I’m afraid.  And even if I did, I ain’t helpin’ you sicko fucks.”

And truthfully, he didn’t know where Okami was.  He hadn’t seen the man since the hallway.  It had occurred to him that Okami might not have even shown up here and that McCree might be in this fight on his own here.  Or dying on his own, depending on how this fight went.

Unless…

He could betray Okami.  The man might have betrayed him first after all.  It would only be fair.  As fair as a fate worse than death could be anyway.  

Throw Okami to the hyenas and walk out of here with five bucks to his name.  

How heroic.

He wasn’t going to take that sloppy shit of an offer seriously.  That wasn’t his style, that wasn’t who he was, and that wasn’t who he would ever be.  He was either in this together with Okami, or he was in this on his own.  He wasn’t going to be batting for these strikeout hobos.  He and Okami were either a team or on their own.  There was no other option that McCree would entertain.

Little did he know that Hanzo was just a few feet above him, aiming his arrow at the reflective covering over Cloudburst’s right eye.  Hanzo was poised and ready to take the shot.  There was only one reason he hadn’t.

 _That_ was a _very_ interesting offer Joker was getting.  He had been waiting for the right moment, but now Hanzo wanted to hear about whether or not Joker would sell him out if the pressure was high enough.  

That and a part of him wanted to see him sweat just a little bit.

Calling him a good man like that.  That had been frustrating, infuriating, and mind-boggling.  Hanzo would show him just how _good_ he really was. 

Hanzo didn’t relax his aim, but he did pause to listen to Joker’s response while he waited.  

Now wasn’t quite the time to act -

“You help us pin Okaka down and we’ll let you live.” Lug offered one last time.  “He seems to trust you and I don’t like him and that mute stare and those judging eyes.  Pisses me off.”

“Go to hell, asswipes.” Joker spat at Weasel’s face.  “I ain’t helpin’ you maim him.”

It was poetic as ever.  The staple Joker response.  Hanzo found it amazing, and confusing, how much Joker was on his side and damn near willing to die for him.  It was heartwarming, in a twisted sort of way.

Weasel wiped at his face angrily.  “Wrong move, _partner.”_

“This is going to feel _so_ good.” Cloud stepped forward and drew his pistol.

\- Now was the time to act.

In a flash, Joker had his gun drawn and leveled with Cloud’s head half a second before Cloud has his lined up.  If this was a one versus one duel, Joker would have won.

This, however, wasn’t a one versus one fight.  This was a faux one versus three with a surprise second player in hiding.  Joker just couldn’t take the shot, or this fight, alone.

Firing his arrow, Hanzo saw Joker’s wrist flick sideways, his arm tensing up.  Three shots rang out, smothering the sound of the lens in Cloud’s mask shattering as the arrow pierced it.

In a half-second, McCree had shot Cloud in the throat, Weasel in the leg, and embedded a useless shot into Lugnut’s massive chest.  Pretty good shots considering that he hadn’t gotten the chance to really aim.  There wasn’t any time to survey his handiwork before a wounded cry rang out, echoing off of the concrete walls surrounding them.

The bullet McCree had shot had gone through the side of Cloudburst’s nicking it pretty good, but not enough to knock him flat. The arrow Okami had fired had pierced the thick lens of Cloud’s mask. Blood ran down the exposed length of Cloudburst’s neck, and he groped for the arrow sticking out of his facehole.

It was about damn time for the backup, Okami.  About damn time

The group paused, freezing for a half second before the brawl truly broke out

Cloud was downed straight away, dropping to the ground and groaning in pain.  Weasel fired a shot wide from McCree, missing him by a mile in his panic.  Lugnut sheathed his knife quickly, hoisting up the minigun he had laid by his feet and firing up in the direction the arrow had come from.

The rusty catwalk beneath Okami’s feet was shredded under the barrage of bullets, and the man had to make a flying jump so that he wasn’t added to the scrap pile.  Lug seemed keen on following the arc of Okami’s jump and welcoming him to the ground floor with a parade of bullets, so McCree chucked out a flashbang and blinded the big guy.  Okami made it down safely, landing behind the group with an arrow drawn tight and aimed to kill.

“So you two already buddied up, eh?” Lugnut said, readjusting his grip on his gun.  “Figures why you didn’t wanna help us sniff him out.”

“Guess we’ll be killin’ both of you ahead of schedule since you’re here,” Weasel added with a laugh.  “How convenient.”

“Only people dying here are you three,” McCree said, snarl on his lips.  “I’d say we’re makin’ this quick, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hopin’ to savor it just a bit.”

Okami fired his arrow towards Weasel, causing the other man to have to fling himself to the ground to avoid getting hit.  Weasel kicked at McCree’s legs while he was down there, knocking the cowboy to a knee.  Lug took advantage of McCree getting knocked down and raised his gun up towards his face and the barrel began the slow wind-up prior to bullet hell.  An arrow was launched into Lugnut’s left wrist, the arm that was holding the gun, and, unable to support its weight any longer, Lug was forced to drop the gun to the ground, the whirr of the spin-up dying as quickly as it started.

McCree dove and rolled between the two men in front of him, managing to slip behind them and on to Okami’s side, on his toes and ready dish out some justice.  He raised his gun as Weasel spun to face him, his shotgun raised.  The two of them had shots lined up with the others head in a second; they both fired as they dodged the other’s shot, with Weasel flinging himself to the right and with McCree bending backward to avoid the shot.  Weasel’s arm was grazed and the spread burned the cloak McCree had laying over his shoulder.  S’alright, it was just a thrift store find anyway.

Lugnut busied himself in dealing with Okami, stepping forward to swipe at the man with his knife.  Okami wisely stepped back away from it, keeping his distance.  

Hanzo knew that he was faster than this giant idiot and he has far more maneuverability. The difference in reach was the biggest problem here, with Lug having a massive wingspan to try to counter and most of his torso being protected by armor.  The man was easily six feet and six inches tall, dwarfing even Joker, the next tallest person here. Hanzo, and his five foot, eight and a quarter inch frame was at a slight disadvantage now that he had lost the catwalk.  

It wasn’t anything that he couldn’t combat, though.  He’d overcome much worse.  He was absolutely certain he had a handle on this situation.  

Mostly.  Maybe.

He readied his bow once more, aiming for the man’s head.  A killing blow right at the beginning would make this so much easier.  He let the arrow fly towards Lugnut’s head.  The man ducked swiftly, causing Hanzo to pause in surprise, and began racing towards Hanzo, as fast as a man of his size and speed could race anywhere.

McCree wasn’t having much better luck.  Weasel was as slippery and slimy in a fight as he was in everyday life, making it hard to pin a shot, and Cloud decided to get to his feet and join him.  Whatever damage had occurred over Cloud’s mask, it hadn’t been enough to knock him out for long.  

Why was is that the evil ones were almost always superhuman?  Why didn’t they ever go down fast and _stay_ down?

Cloud, taking advantage of McCree focusing on Weasel, had gathered a stray electrical cable from the floor and crept up behind him.  He hooked the thick cable around Jesse’s throat, pulling tight and upsetting both of their balances.  Seeing the tide get turned in their favor, Weasel realigned his gun for an easy shot.

Throwing himself back into Cloud, McCree caught him off-guard and managed to slam his elbow back into his torso.  At the same time, using the momentum he just earned for himself, McCree kicked his leg out and knocked Weasel’s shotgun from his hands, sending it flying back past Okami and Lugnut.

Hanzo was having a hell of a time dealing with this massive mountain of muscles.  He had to keep dancing out of Lugnut’s longer range, for the larger man was keen on closing the gap and giving Hanzo a formal introduction to his knife.  

While Hanzo couldn’t get as much power behind his shots as he would have liked, because Lugnut as forcing him to draw and release before he could get that power, he was still hitting his shots and sort of wounding Lugnut while remaining uninjured himself.  This fight would be easier if he had back-up, but a quick glance over told him that Joker seemed to be in enough trouble on his own right now.

Cloud tightened his grip on the cord, trying to pull McCree down to the ground.  Reaching for the loop around his throat, and the overlap of cables crushing his windpipe, McCree tugged at the cables creating just enough space to slip his metal hand into the gap and gave himself a chance to take a breath.

Weasel didn’t take kindly to his gun being kicked away and took his time to wind up a punch at McCree’s torso.  With McCree’s prosthetic now under the overlap, and Cloud pulling the cables at tight as possible, he took advantage of the tautness of the cables and, pulling back towards his throat for as much space and power as his hand could get, slammed the prosthetic against the cables.  

The hand sliced through the cords easily, but at a small cost.   There was the casualty of a now-popped spring at his wrist, so he was limited in the amount of finesse he could squeeze out from the arm, though bigger movements were still fine. Weasel was punished for standing too close when the arm continued its forceful push and rammed into Weasel’s nose.   The audible crack was music to McCree’s ears, and watching Weasel crumple to the floor was quite the accompanying sight.

McCree drew his gun to finish Weasel off but noticed that the man had an arrow sticking out of the back of his head.  It was embedded fairly deep, a killing blow for sure even if it took some time.  Raising his gun, McCree was about to fire a mercy kill of a shot when a strangled gurgle drew his attention across the floor.

Lugnut had Hanzo in a chokehold, taking advantage of Hanzo helping Joker out of his predicament and looking away from their fight for half a second.  The moved faster than Hanzo had expected.  Maybe it was only his obnoxiously huge arms that had crossed the distance to snag Hanzo and pull him close.  Either way, he was far too close to a man whose stench was an awful combination of blood, gunpowder, old coins, and death.

Hanzo’s focus had been on trying to give Joker an opening by taking a potshot at Weasel.  He hadn’t expected Joker to shove the small man’s head back into the shot, basically ensuring a kill for them.  From the matching stunned look on Joker’s face, he was surprised by the turn of events too.

The arm around Hanzo’s throat grew tighter and he was starting to see spots.  He had to drop his bow to the side to wrestle with this oaf’s grip, unable to pry the massive arm off no matter how hard he tried.  His feet were barely touching the ground, he had no leverage, and he was starting to pass out as the air was squeezed out of him.  Maybe he didn’t have a handle on this situation at all.  Maybe.

A few shots echoed, but they didn’t catch Hanzo’s attention past the loud heartbeat in his ears.  There was a blinding flash of light, its yellow glare piercing through the black and white spots dancing before Hanzo’s eyes, and he felt himself dropping to the ground.  Never one to kick a gift horse in the ass, as soon as his senses returned from wherever the flash had taken them, Hanzo ducked and scrambled out of kicking or grabbing range.

He wrapped a hand around his own throat, shielding it from any other attempts at strangling him.  Panting, he fought to catch his breath, taking a moment to just breathe while Joker distracted the big man.  His bow now back by his feet, Hanzo picked it up, finding a small bit of comfort in being armed once again.

“Sorry, O, think I hit you with the flash too,” Joker said apologetically, firing another shot at the large fool.  “Shit, man, what the hell do you eat for breakfast?”

It took a moment for Hanzo to realize that the second half of Joker’s statement was not directed at him.  Instead, Joker was throwing that comment at Lugnut.  The large man had two bullets in his massive arm,  one in his neck, and two in his armor, and looked no worse for the wear.  What sort of beast wearing human flesh were they fighting?

Lugnut opted to not comment, instead grunting angrily as he threw out a punch towards Joker.  Joker rolled back out of the way, rapidly firing another six shots at Lug’s legs as he stood back up.

Wait?  Six shots?  Wasn’t Joker’s gun just a six-shooter?  Lug already had five in him.  Had Joker reloaded during that roll?

Impressive.

The shots to the legs seemed to cause the behemoth a bit of pain, but it still wasn’t enough to knock him down.  Hanzo took advantage of the distance that he had now to try to spot a weakness.  Lugnut had never been forced to fight this up-close out on the field, so whatever technique he favored, and what exploits there were to be had, was unknown to Hanzo.

“Y’alright there, O?” Joker asked, casting Hanzo a quick side glance as he slowly got back up to his feet.  

“Fine.  Just catching my breath.” Hanzo replied as he steadied his legs.  Upon hearing him speak, both Cloud and Lug jumped, and even Weasel gave a bloody gurgle of confusion from down somewhere behind them, and Joker jumped at the sudden opening.

Jesse slammed a punch at Lugnut’s ribs with his metal arm, creating enough force to crack them under the armor.  Bullet-proof armor didn’t stop the force behind a shot, and a man still could end up bruised underneath the protection.  

Unfortunately, as good as a dent this was to the iron giant they were fighting, McCree was fairly certain that he wasn’t going to be doing that again. The impact hadn’t affected his prosthetic, but it had hurt the stump it was attached to like the dickens.  Before he could stop himself, McCree let out a cry of pain, groping at his elbow with his good arm.

Oh Lordy, he was seeing spots.  What the hell was this man made of?

Hanzo saw both Lugnut and Cloud step towards Joker now that the man was temporarily vulnerable. He fired a quick shot back towards Cloud, who had more distance to cover to get to Joker. Then he charged the bigger man, the one closer to reaching Joker, and delivered a solid kick between the man’s legs to buy them some time.  

It was a dirty move, but necessary in these circumstances.

Hanzo’s foot solidly connected with Lug’s nuts.  The bigger man winced at the blow.  Hanzo fell back on his ass.  The shock of the impact had Hanzo hissing in pain, sending a tingling burn up towards his knee.

He had just kicked a man in the dick.  He shouldn't the one rolling on the ground in pain.  That wasn’t fair.

McCree had quickly recovered from the shock of his nerves screaming at him, even if he still hurt like hell.  Sore but usable.  Should be his personal slogan or something.

There was a choked gasp behind McCree.  He wheeled around to see Cloud with yet another arrow sticking out of him, this one embedded in the forehead of his mask.  It must not have killed him, though, for he angrily groped at it, stepping back from McCree to rip it out of his mask.  It had just left a nice shallow hole in his head, unfortunately, not deep enough to kill.

Then there was another choked gasp, but this time in front of McCree.  He wheeled back the other way to see Okami getting picked up by the front chest piece of his armor, Lugnut lifting him as easily as a ragdoll.  Before McCree could open his mouth, Lug gave the man a strong heave, and Okami was airborne, his bow still in hand, sailing through the air right towards him.

The collision did not feel good.  Neither did the sliding back they did, ending up about ten feet back from where they had started.  Dare McCree even call it painful.

Okami sat up in an angry huff.  McCree sat up in a more dazed one.

Okami let out a frustrated hiss. “There’s just one left.” He gestured towards Lug who was moving towards them.  “It should not be this difficult to take one man down.”

McCree tapped his shoulder and the other man whipped his head around to look at him.  “Hate to burst your bubble, O, but there’s still two of ‘em left.”

Okami glanced over his shoulder back at Cloud, then back at Joker, and then the two of them looked back at Cloud.  “Is there now?”  Twisting to face Cloud, Okami drew an arrow back on his bow.  Taking the hint, McCree pulled up his gun.

They both let their shots fire at the same time.  The arrow and bullet whizzed through the air, landing solidly in Cloud; the arrow pierced his chest and the bullet ripped through the hole in the head of his mask.  The man stood stiffly still for a moment and then fell back on to the ground with a thud.

Joker leaned in and spoke in a whisper.  “That was beautiful an’ all, but do we have a plan to deal with Lug here?”

“One in the works,” Hanzo whispered back.  Did Joker really not trust him to have an idea of a plan?  Foolish.  Just because he was completely making this up as they went didn’t mean that Joker had any right to doubt him.

“So nothing set in stone yet?”

“I have never met a man so muscular that not even bullets could pierce him,” Okami admitted reluctantly.  “This is a new situation for me.”

“Likewise.”

“How is your arm, if I may ask?”

“Sore as hell.  How’s your leg?”

“It feels bruised.”

“And your ass?  I saw you fall pretty hard.”

“Bruised as well.  As bruised as my ego.”  Hanzo replied.  “I did not hurt you when I was tossed onto you, did I?”

“Nah, sugar, you’re as light as a feather-pillow stuffed full of bricks,” Joker said with his trademark grin.

Lugnut seemed confused by their casual banter across the floor and paused a moment before he continued approaching them, knife in hand.  “You idiots remember there’s a fight going on, right?”

McCree pulled the brim of his hat up off of his face.  “The plan, O?”

Hanzo slowly got to his face, standing with a grunt.  “I have an _idea,_ not a plan.”

“Care to let me in on it?”  Jesse asked.  “How you gonna take down this idiot?-”

“I’d rather give it a try and explain it after if you do not mind,” Okami said.

Jesse nodded agreeably.  “A’ight, fair enough.  Got anything you want me to do?”

“Return to your original role briefly.” Okami said.  “I will handle the rest for now.”

Be the decoy once more?  Okay.  For Okami, McCree could do that.

Cracking his neck, McCree took a step in front of Okami, getting between him and Lug.  Considering that Okami was a sniper, there was a good chance that giving him some distance from Lug would grant him the time to make the killing shot.  McCree had tried his usual method and it was coming up short.  If Okami’s plan failed, then McCree would take a turn with a guess of what to do.  Until then, he was happy to help him out.

Walking with a swagger in his step, McCree moved towards Lugnut.  He drew his gun and had it ready by his side.  “You ready for a duel here, boy?”

“So that’s the role he was talking about?” Lug asked with a laugh. “You’re the patsy?”

McCree furrowed his brow at the insinuation.  “I ain’t no patsy.”

“Sure as hell seems like you are to me.” Lug said.  “Your lil’ friend’s gone.”

McCree chanced a quick glance behind himself, making it brief in case Lugnut was trying to dupe him.

Yep.  Nope.  Lug wasn’t trying a dupe. Okami was gone.  Son of a bitch.

This better all be part of a plan, or McCree was gonna give Okami some hell later.

With the knife in hand, Lug lunged towards McCree, taking advantage of his obnoxious wingspan to try to sneak a slice in.  McCree rolled back out of the way, but Lug was surprisingly fast on his feet and kept pace with him.  Lugnut flipped the knife in his hand, angling it downward for a strong stab, and closed the distance between him and McCree.

Raising his prosthetic up to meet Lug’s arm, he caught the thick limb and struggle to push it away.  A sore elbow didn’t make this any easier, but McCree still felt like he was trying to push a wall away from him.  Lug was sturdy, Jesse would give him that; the man was dangerously sturdy.

A sound of light metal on concrete tickled his ear, and a flash of ten or so shards bouncing up into Lug caught them both by surprise.  They pierced the man’s skin, embedding themselves in the right side of his neck and face.  The armor he wore protected his torso, though a shard did spear his thigh as well.

Okami had just fired one of his shard arrow things, one of the ones that split into a hundred pieces and could shred a man in a millisecond.  That was good, really good.  It meant that Lug had been wounded yet again.  It also meant that Okami was in the shadows somewhere, supporting him while staying out of sight, and, most importantly, it meant that Okami hadn’t left him to die.

The knife scuffle forgotten, Lugnut shoved McCree off of him and ripped the shard out of his leg.  Winding up as he turned, he flung it back towards where the shard had bounced from, his right side.  No one was there.  Okami had probably bounced it off the wall from somewhere else in the room.  McCree had seen him fire the shots before; they were some of the prettiest shots he had ever seen, both in terms of visual aesthetic as well as lethality.

McCree regained his balance just as Lugnut returned his focus to him, sparing glances towards the right as he watched for any movement.  Before Lugnut could take another step there was a loud crunch of a sound, and he froze.  An arrow stuck out of his left temple.  Lugnut let out a howl and grabbed at the arrow with his left hand, still clutching the knife in his right.

How the hell was this abomination still standing?

Focusing on the scene before him with a glint in his eyes, McCree knew that he had the perfect shot lined up.  Okami had gotten Lugnut to expose his neck and face, extremely vulnerable areas on any man, and distracted him from blocking the shot.  

Okami had gone from being the assassin to being the decoy without saying a word.  Clever man.  He was doing a fine job of being the decoy too.  Lugnut was completely focused on the shadows that Okami had ducked into, pulling his knife back for a throw.

McCree needed to hurry this up.  Taking a moment to get his aim on target, McCree looked Lugnut dead in the eye as he drew his revolver and fired.  “Draw.”

The bullet flew from his gun as the knife left Lugnut’s hand.  Lugnut’s head recoiled from the impact of the bullet and he fell to the ground with a solid thud.  Blood oozed from his skull and his fingers twitched, fighting still as he lay there, but the fight left his body as the light left his eyes.  Lugnut was finally dead.

“Y’alright, O?” McCree asked, surveying the room and the three bodies on the ground as he stepped over to the man.  Okami met him halfway, holding onto Lugnut’s bloody knife as he stared down the large man’s body.

“Just peachy,” Okami said through gritted teeth.  It then occurred to McCree that the knife hadn’t been bloody when it left Lugnut’s hand.

“Oh, shit, how bad did he nick you?” McCree asked, looking over the very covered up man as best as he could.  There was a little bit of blood on his armor, but the clothes underneath that were black.  Black was very good at hiding blood, and good for hiding injuries from enemies, but really, really bad at telegraphing you needed help from your allies.

“He didn’t.” Okami said as he moved past McCree towards Lugnut’s body.

“He didn’t?” Now McCree was confused.  He tried to peek back over towards the crates where Okami had emerged, but couldn’t see anything beyond the stack.  “Then who’s blood’s on the knife?”

Okami was crouched by the body, checking to make sure that Lugnut was dead.  “The thicker man’s.  I don’t know his name.”  

Weasel was rail thin.  Lug was dead on the floor.  The only one left was-

“Cloud?” McCree asked.  “How’d Cloudburst’s blood get on the knife? I thought we shot him ages ago.”

“We _did_ ,” Okami said, clearly exasperated at the situation.  “He should have been dead, but he wasn’t.”

“So you stabbed him?”

Okami knit his brow in confusion.  “What?  Did I-?  No.  No, I try to avoid stabbing people unless it’s unavoidable.  Very messy.  Bad memories.  Do not like it.” He looked down at the large body at his feet. “With the options I have available, stabbing is only good to send a point.”

McCree was still confused.  “Then how-?”

“Clodbust, or whatever you called him, attempted to jump me.  He must have seen where I fired the scatter from and he grabbed the small man’s big gun and was going to shoot me.  He jumped in behind me as the large man threw his small knife, trying to get the shot off.  Instead, the knife landed in the middle of his torso when I dropped to the ground to dodge it.”

“Well, lordy, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re okay.  Fuckin’ scared me for a second, O, m’heart damn near popped outta my chest” McCree said, reaching a hand out before he pulled it away a second later.  He then asked.  “Scatter’s what you call that thousand piece arrow thing, right?”

“Yes,” Okami replied, musing upon McCree’s question.  “Thousand piece arrow would have been a good name for it.  I like the simplicity of calling it a scatter arrow, though.”

“Yeah, me too.” McCree nodded.  “Gotta ask somethin’ that’s been botherin’ me awhile; how do you aim somethin’ like that?” he gestured back towards where he and Lugnut had been having their standoff  “I was right there, right next to him.  Just tell me that wasn’t a game of Russian Roulette you play every time you fire a shot.”

“Of course, I can aim where the shards hit,” Okami said, his tone leaning towards offended. “It’s so easy to aim.  All it takes is some simple geometry.”

McCree found himself surprised by the answer.  He had been expecting a long-winded explanation of some technical jargon hoo-loo.  Not something so simple as that. “Geometry?”

“I can picture the angles, so it’s dreadfully easy to see where the scatters will bounce,” Okami replied.  “Years of practice have made it so I can judge angles and distance from sight alone.  You were never in any danger, Joker.  I can promise you that.  When it comes to angles, I’m always right.”

No, I mean-... No, I never thought I was.  You’re amazing, O, I already know that.” Jesse told him, pausing.  “I was jus’ thinkin’ that you’re about 45 or so degrees off.”

Okami looked confused.  “What?  No, I-...Where?  When?” he looked down in thought, clearly replaying all recent shots in his mind to determine what McCree was talking about. “45 degrees off of what?”

“Being right.” McCree was fighting to hide the smile threatening to break his poker face.

Okami stared at him.  “I don’t understand.”

“Well, O, ya’ say you’re right, but I think you’re more acute.”

It was clear that, under his mask, Okami’s confused frown as being replaced by a small annoyed smile.  There had been something in McCree’s joke, or his overly sincere tone, that Okami had found amusing.  Good.  The two of them needed to find a way to smile at something after that bloodbath.  Let it be him playing the fool once again. “Perhaps you’re not as obtuse as I thought.” Okami finally said, meeting his nervous stare with warm look in his eyes.

McCree rubbed a hand at the back of his neck.  “Aw, don’t look at me like that.” he said with a smile.  “Now you got me trying to decide if you’re more an acute angle or a cute angel.”

That flirtation earned him a raised eyebrow and a small shake of Okami’s head.  “We’re sitting next to a body, Joker.” he said.  “A body we killed.  Together.  Near two other bodies we killed.  Together.  I hardly think of us as angels.”

“Angels of death?  I mean, killing people like this is what we do.” McCree offered.  “We killed this mammoth here.  We’re basically unstoppable.  We always have been.  It could work, yeah?”

Okami gave it a hum of thought, his head moving side to side as he debated the title.  Instead of answering, he looked at the body beside him and scowled.  That wasn’t an actual no to the suggested moniker, which was something McCree as sure to note.

“Yes, and it’s a good thing he’s dead.  If he wasn’t dead right now, I would be killing him myself.” Okami growled, beginning to cut away at the shoulders of Lugnut’s shirt with the knife.  “I’ve been wanting to kill them ever since they opened their damn mouths.  I was ready to walk out on this job right then and there.  Instead, I stayed and was insulted and had derogatory words tossed at me and damn been near sexually assaulted all because-...”  

He didn’t want to admit why he stayed.  He wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay.  I know they’ve been putting you through hell.  I should have done more.” McCree said as he watched Okami cut the straps of Lugnut’s torso armor. “Why didn’t you then?  Walk out, I mean”

“You did enough.  Scared them away from acting.  Lurked so I wasn’t alone.   Distracted when they focused on me.  Touching gestures, but unnecessary.  Don’t beat yourself.  You did everything you needed to.” Okami paused as he thought of his answer to McCree’s question.  “I needed the money.  I have been doing too much charity work.”  

He couldn’t admit the real reason he had stayed.  He couldn’t say it.

“Cheap killings, you mean?” McCree asked. “Because, don’t take this the wrong way, I doubt you mean real charity work.”

“Very cheap.  Borderline free.  The last one was a woman willing to sell her home if I could take out her former husband, who so happened to run a gang and had chased this poor woman and her two daughters across Thailand.” Okami looked up at him.  “How am I supposed to turn her down or force her to sell the one thing she has just so someone would help her?  He had the police bribed, rumors spread about her all through the city, and a gang willing to antagonize her.  How could I just walk away?  Her two daughters were a three and six year old. She was barely more than a child herself.” Shaking his head, he looked up at McCree. “If I didn’t do something, then who would have?”

“No one would’ve.  You saved her and her family.” McCree said with a nod.  “How much you end up charging?”

“Fifteen dollars, a pack of granola bars, three stickers, ones of some horses, I think, and a friendship bracelet.” Okami admitted reluctantly.  “The whole family chipped in.”

“And the gang?”

“Dismantled.  I tore it down from the inside.  Come help me take this off of him.” Okami said, beckoning McCree to sit beside him as he continued talking.  “Find the joints of the structure and you can dismantle most power players unless it’s too sturdy to take down in one hit.  Then you have to plan beyond just annihilating the leader.  A pain, really. ”

McCree kneeled down and helped pull the side of the armor taut so Okami could cut through it.  Didn’t know what the hell the man was doing, but McCree was down for it.  “So let me get this straight; you destroyed what sounds like a pretty large gang for fifteen dollars?”

“In her money, it was more like one hundred and fifty. Converted to American currency, for your sake, it was fifteen dollars, yes.”  Okami said quickly, raking the knife through the threads, not caring if he cut the corpse.  “The gang was a threat to the general area with a monopoly on food importation.  It needed to be taken down.”

“And so you did.” McCree said with a smile.  “For fifteen dollars.”

“Would you stop saying that?  So I did?  What does it matter to you?” Okami said, ripping the seams of the homemade armor apart.  “Does price really matter when lives are on the- What is this?”

McCree followed Okami’s gaze down towards the corpse. His eyes widened as he looked at the sight before him.  The man’s body was a grotesque mixture of man and man-made materials, with a metal riveted with flesh where the seams lay.    Some gears were visible, as were organs through clear sheeting, and there were burn marks where a blowtorch was sloppily used to fuse the metal plates together, marks on both the metal and the man underneath.  Clearly, the armor he wore wasn’t the only homemade thing here.

Hanzo felt the blood run out of his face as he surveyed the sight before him.  A crude combination of human and machine.  Was this what he had doomed Genji to?  Was this what his brother looked like underneath his armor?

The bloody knife in his hand seemed to look more like a sword.  The body before him was now that of his brother, the blood oozing from slashes rather than a bullet hole.  He was no longer in the desert with Joker, he was back in Hanamura, alone with his total decimation and utter betrayal of kin.  

He had just killed his own brother.  He had destroyed him with his own hand.  

He was a monster.

The look on Okami’s face was horrified disgust and his breathing came out in panicked puffs.  As he grew paler, McCree grew more concerned.  He’d never seen Okami so unsettled before.  It was worrying.  Really worrying. “O, buddy, you there?”

Getting no response, McCree pulled the piece of armor back up over the body, covering it from Okami’s sight.  That seemed to break the spell.  Without that sight in front of him, Okami seemed to be coming back, blinking a few times as he came to.

Tentatively, McCree reached out and put a hand on Okami’s arm, his hold gentle in case Okami wanted to break it.  “Are you alright?”

“I-Yes.  Yes, I’m fine.” Okami said with a nod far too resolute considering the state he had been in.

No, he wasn’t.  McCree knew that he was lying through his gritted teeth. A liar who was lying to himself.

That wasn’t just something you called a man out on, though.  Especially not a man as deadly as this that you barely knew.  You just kinda let men like that believe what they wanted, even if it was wrong.

“Kind of freaky.  Don’t like it none either.” McCree said gently, the grip he had on Okami’s shoulder tightening testingly.  “Take it that was one of the questions you wanted answered?”

Okami nodded, thumb stroking along the roughly hewn handle on the knife.  “It was.  I wanted to know why he was so hard to knock down.  What protections he had.  That explains it.”

“It does.  That was no man.  That was a monster.” McCree said, taking the opportunity to use his metallic arm to remove the knife from Okami’s grip.  The other man gave it up without a fight, though McCree wasn’t sure if he was just being agreeable or if he was still in some sort of shock.  He knew better than to question it.  It was safer for the both of them if Okami no longer held the knife.

Okami glanced away from him, looking around the room as he got his bearings back, slowly, very slowly, beginning to start to stand.  “He is not the only one.”

McCree watched him carefully as he stood up, getting to his feet before Okami and holding out a hand to help him up.  “Listen, O, I wanted to apologize for something.”

“What could you possibly have to apologize for?” Hanzo asked slowly as he took Joker’s hand just to help himself up, confused by the profession of guilt.  Joker had been nothing but kind and accommodating.  What could he have done wrong?  “I have something to say as well, but you may go first.”

“Much obliged.  Listen, I think I upset you earlier.  Seemed to take offense at me calling you a good man.  I’d like to apologize for not listening to you an’ just gabbin’ away with my thoughts.” Joker said, carefully picking his words.  “Now, I still think you’re a decent fella’.  Talking with you’s only solidified that in my mind.  But I was clearly stepping on toes an’ ignoring you because I thought that my way of thinking was the only kind of thinking.  That ain’t right, an’ I’m sorry.”

Hanzo should have accepted his unnecessary apology immediately.  Joker didn’t have to say any of that, for he hadn’t been in the wrong.  Hanzo had been the one acting inappropriately.  He knew that.  It was clear for anyone to see.  Accepting this apology should have been an instantaneous action.

Instead, Hanzo found himself wordlessly opening and closing his mouth - thank goodness for his mask covering up his idiocy - confused and unprepared for Joker’s speech.  He didn’t know what to say.  It had been so long since he had spoken with someone like this, someone so sincere and so honest.  This was the first civil conversation that he was having in months and he had forgotten how to respond in like.  He was lost.

“Apology accepted.  Don’t make the mistake of calling me _good_ again.” He finally said, aware of Joker’s sharp eyes watching him, waiting for a response.  Now came for the problem.  He had just been about to apologize for  _his_ behavior back there.  But, if he did that, wouldn’t it diminish the effect of Joker’s apology?  

Wouldn’t it take away from it?  Would it take away from it?  He didn’t know.  Why was maintaining even a modicum of civility so damned difficult?

“Much appreciated.” Joker tipped his hat at Hanzo.  He actually tipped it.  Was this man even real?  “That’s all I had to say.  Don’t let me interrupt you no more.  Go’head.  I’m all ears.”

“I-...All I wish to say is that, ah…” Hanzo paused in thought, stalling.  What was something meaningful to add that would not take Joker’s thunder?  Something meaningful, but not too personal.  

Oh, he could say the other reason that he was on this team.  The real reason.  The reason that he had stayed.

No, wait, not that.  Don’t say that.  Don’t-.  

“Money is not the only reason that I remained on this team, Joker.  It was a strong motivator, yes, and the initial reason that I joined, but I stayed on this team out of pure concern for your well-being and that is your fault.  I hope you’re happy.”

The look on Joker’s face was one of thoughtfulness.  He seemed to be processing Hanzo’s idiotic threat of confession or perhaps pondering what to say in return.  A beautiful smile bloomed on to his face and he looked Hanzo in the eye, mirth clearly alight in his.  “Happy?  I’m tickled pink.”

Hanzo looked Joker up and down.  Tickled pink?  He was not pink in the slightest.  A robust copper with a hint of red in the cheeks, and as beautiful as a sunset that lit the sky on fire, yes, but not pink at all.  

What the hell did tickled pink mean?  

It had to float more towards a positive response, judging solely on Joker’s demeanor.  Perchance it was a positive response.  Hanzo decided to go with that.  “...Good?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Joker seemed to catch onto Hanzo’s lack of understanding of the phrase and took pity on him.  He surveyed the room around the two of them.  “We should get out of here.  With temperature’s like this, it’s gonna reek soon.”

“We can’t go yet.” Hanzo said.  Now came the awkward part.  He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.  “Well, you can if you’d like.  I’m waiting.”

McCree cocked a brow.  “Waiting?  For what exactly?”

“A beep.”

“A beep?”

“Three beeps actually.”

McCree sighed.  “Then three beeps for what?”

“They are, ah...You’ll see in just a bit-” A shrill scream of a beep went off on McCree’s wrist.  He glanced down at his holowatch and saw that the credit transfer to his account had been completed.  The screen gave him the options to acknowledge the transfer and close the notification or to look at his account details and see more.  Okami’s watch went off a moment later and showed him the same options.  Then there were three more beeps that went off in rapid succession, signaling the dead men had received their money.

McCree then figured out why Okami was waiting.  “You’re gonna go into their accounts an’ wipe them out, aren’t you.”

Okami was already on his way over to Weasel’s body, selecting to see more of his account information.  “It’s not like they’re going to use it.”

“You dirty graverobber.”

“They are hardly in a grave.” Okami retorted, typing on the screen.  He was undoubtedly in the middle of transferring all of the money in there into his account.  

“Yeah, they ain’t even cold yet,” McCree said.  “You’re doing the same thing that they were gonna do to us.”

“False.  I did not kill them for their money.  I killed in self-defense, as did you.  We won honorably.  Despite the circumstances, we won this dirty fight with honor.  The money is now our prize to claim.” Okami reminded him.  “Letting these credits sit there would be a waste.  You know this.”

“This is why you wanted to wait ‘til today to go after them ‘steada doing it last night, isn't it?” McCree groaned. “To make sure that they got paid so you could swipe it. ”

“I wanted to wait to make sure that my suspicions were correct,” Okami argued.  It sounded weak to even his ears.

McCree rolled his eyes.  “Sure you did, O,” he said, looking the man up and down.  "I take it back, maybe you ain't quite the angel I thought you were."

"Aren't we angels of death together?  That's what you said.  We're angels of death.  Killing people like this is what we do." Okami tried to keep arguing, that son of a bitch, trying to persuade McCree to see his point of view using McCree's own failed pick-up line.  “And this angel needs a way to pay for his flights and food, for he lost his wings long ago and doesn't wish to starve." Okami sighed and looked at Jesse with his big ol', tired-looking, pound dog eyes. "Joker, would you rather the credits sit here on corpses or be spent in the world where people like you and I can use them?”

McCree pondered Okami’s argument.  He was right.  That was at least sixty thousand credits sitting around on dead men’s bodies.  That was a hell of a waste. Didn’t sit right with him to be looting from men barely thirty minutes dead, but waiting around for them to be deader wouldn’t make it any better.  It’d just be a waste of time.

Still… While twenty-five thousand was a good amount of money, forty-five thousand was much, much better.

Fuck it.  

If he could double his pay for this hellish job, then he wouldn’t have to take another one for a couple months more.  He was gonna loot their asses too.

Dead men pay no bills.  They didn't need the money.  He did.

“I get Lug’s money,” McCree said roughly.  There was no argument in his tone. The decision was final whether or not Okami approved. “That’s my split for my part in this mess.”

“We’ll split Clod’s too.” Okami offered as he finished securing Weasel’s funds. “I do not intend to cheat you out of anything.”

McCree debated the offer.  “Maybe we will.  Maybe we won't.  How much do you charge for a job?”

“An assassination?  Ten to fifteen thousand a head.  Upwards of twenty depending on complexity and notoriety of the target.” Okami replied, getting to his feet.  “Small jobs come with smaller fees.”

“Like fifteen bucks for dismantling a gang?” McCree asked with a wicked grin.  Okami sent him an unamused stare.  “Tell you what.  I wanna make a deal.”

That seemed to pique Okami’s interest.  “What type of deal?”

“You get Cloud’s money for this job, the twenty k.  I get the rest if there's any and I get a free job out of you.” McCree said.  “Or, twenty k’s worth of jobs out of you.”

“But I get to decline jobs that I do not wish to undertake.” Okami countered.

“Oh, absolutely, honey.  I ain’t ever gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” McCree said.  “So do we have a deal?”

“You do understand that I am not the easiest man to call up, yes?  I swap out phones frequently.  There is no good way to contact me.” Okami cautioned him.

“Well, then I guess that just means that you get your money free.” McCree told him with a lazy shrug. “We got a deal, O?”

Okami looked him over, debating the offer and looking for any alarm bells.  There didn’t seem to be any.  Twenty thousand worth of work of his choosing that he may or may not ever have to finish?  He the clear winner with this deal.

“Deal,” he said without a second thought.

“Shake on it.” McCree said, holding out his hand.  Okami closed the distance between them and slipped his hand neatly into McCree’s giving him a firm squeeze while they shook hands.  “I’m holding you to it, you understand that, right?”

“Absolutely,” Okami said, meeting his eyes.

“Good, just so we’re clear,” McCree said.  “I’ll get Lug’s.  You get started on Cloud.  Then we vamoose out of here once I finish up.”

Okami started for Cloud’s body behind the crates, poking his head back out to look over at McCree.  “Would you find it acceptable to drive out of here together?  There is only one car.”

“Aw, shit, we were dropped off here, weren’t we?” McCree said idly, pulling up Lugnut’s account information.  “Which way you heading?”

“I have no direction in mind.  Wherever the wind blows.” Okami replied.  “I will split off from you at the first large town with transportation.  You can take the car or I can help you destroy it and we go our separate ways from there.”

“Works for me.” McCree said with a shrug, distracted with plugging in his account as the transfer destination for the money.  If he kept himself busy, he wouldn't have to think about him and Okami heading their separate ways, no matter how inevitable.  He wasn’t ready to be alone again.  If he didn’t think about it, then maybe it wouldn’t happen.

Okami nodded in response and disappeared behind the crate to get his share of Cloud’s money.  “Is there anything else after this we need to take care of before we leave this abyss?”

“Can’t think of nothing.  I’d rather leave this hellhole behind me as soon as possible.”

“I would like to be out of here as well.” Okami said as he stood. “I’m done with him.  There’s still about four thousand for you.”

Joker began heading towards Cloud’s corpse.  “Well, considerin’ that Lug only had about a grand extra in his account, I reckon I know who the stingy one here was.”

“I ‘reckon’ you do.” Hanzo replied as they passed each other.   _He_ reckoned that Joker didn’t know the truth.  Weasel had twenty-nine in his account when Hanzo drained it.  Cloud had only the twenty k.  Once Hanzo had finished with his account, though, there was four thousand for Joker.  A gift from Hanzo, even if Joker never knew.  It was the least that he could do for the man.

Joker seemed amused by his poor attempt at a southern accent if the quiet chuckle and gentle shake of his shoulders was anything to go off of.  “I _reckon_ you’re right.”

It was quick to get the transfer of Cloud’s started to McCree’s account.  As he typed on the hologram, an odd smell tickled his nose.  Oil.  Why did he smell oil and why was the scent so strong?  A hole in Cloud’s head was lit up by a weak spark, and McCree figured it out. 

Cloud was a full omnic, not a hybrid like Lug, so no wonder it had taken so many shots to take him down.  And no wonder he liked poison bombs; he wasn’t going to be breathing any of that shit in.  The red fluid spurting from his body had been an oil omnics used, not blood.

Cloud had been an omnic.

Well, how about that.

Didn’t matter now though.  The only thing he was now was dead.  Dead and broke, as a small beep confirmed McCree’s transaction was now underway.

There was no point in sticking around and waiting the thirty minutes, the time without any safeguards on transactions, for the money to come through.  It wasn’t as if anyone here was going to cancel it.  Anyone that could cancel it was dead.

By the time that McCree stood, he found that Okami had moved to wait by the door.  Picking up his pace, McCree moved towards Okami, intent on lightening his load.  He had both of their bags, McCree’s hanging on his arm and his case slung on his back.  He didn’t have to fetch McCree’s bags, bless the man’s heart, but he had anyway.  It seemed neither of them wished to stay here another second longer than they had to.  

Now that they had won the fight for their lives, McCree and Hanzo, the victors and survivors, were free to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, and general feedback are super duper appreciated! <3
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	4. Roadtrip Blues pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jeepers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning:  
> *Small mentions of death and all that jazz  
> *I think that's it tbh
> 
> Happy reading! <3

The walk out to the truck was a quiet one.  Both of the men just seemed to be taking a minute to process everything that had transpired this morning.  Crossing from the basin room back to the outdoors only took a few minutes, but time moved oddly when there wasn’t a word being said.  McCree and Okami made it out the truck, which was always left unlocked, and situated their bags in the backseat.  

Jesse shut the driver’s side back door and opened the front, unhooking the keys from the rearview mirror as he slid into the seat.  It then occurred to him why there had been no travel accommodations discussed between him, Okami, and those other men; If that crew had had their way, no discussion would have ever needed to be had.  He and Okami would be dead ones lying on the floor back there, not Lug, Cloud, or Wea-

“Joker.” A voice cut through the grisly scene replaying in his mind, thankfully shaking him from his thoughts.  “Do you want me to drive?”

McCree looked towards the passenger side.  Okami was hanging outside the truck, leaning against the frame as he asked.  It seemed he was avoiding committing to a seat yet.  “Would you like to?” McCree asked.

“I would,” Okami confirmed.  “You seem distracted.”

McCree had to give him that one.  He was distracted as hell.  A lot of bad memories had been stirred up out here.  Now that he had time to think, those memories were all he could think of.  He was having a hard time keeping focus in the present.

Maybe having Okami drive wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

“You a good driver?” he asked, already getting out of the seat and out of the truck.

“Very,” Okami reassured him.  It was an unnecessary reassurance; McCree wasn’t in the mood to drive at all.  Okami could have said that he only crashed every other car that he touched and McCree would have handed him the keys with a kiss and just hope that this wasn’t the every otherith vehicle he was about to ride in.  

McCree tossed him the keys, giving a silent signal that Okami was in charge here, and began walking around the front.  Instead of walking around the truck, though, Okami opted to crawl through the passenger side over to the driver’s seat.  

What a strange man.  Strange in the best ways, really.

The passenger’s seat felt so much more comfortable to McCree, but maybe that was because it didn’t have the pressure of having to drive.  He slumped into the seat, already feeling tired despite the day barely have begun. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. It had been a shit morning for the two of them, but not bad considering that they could be dead.

Hanzo started up the car, turning the keys twice to get the engine to kick up.  The first thing he checked was the gas; thankfully they had enough to get them back to civilization.  The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to get stranded together in the desert, even if Joker was one of the few people that he wouldn’t mind getting stuck with.

“Which way do you want me to drive?” he asked.

“Mmm…” Joker hummed in thought.  “Head northwest.  We’re southeast of Ceder, ‘Zona.  Vegas ain’t too far.  Couple hours.  Biggest city nearby save for Phoenix.”

“Between the two, I'd rather go to Vegas.  It's a good city for us to blend into.” Hanzo added, beginning to drive north on the crude desert road.

It was easy to disappear into a city that was large, loud and had people always on the move.  Him and Joker disappearing in a place like that?  For men like them, that would be simple.  It was what they did.

The actual separation from the man would be the hard part.  Hanzo already knew that he was going to miss him.  Even with the threat of death, the last twenty some hours had been the best time Hanzo had experienced in a while and he knew that it was only because of the man sitting next to him.

Either he had very low expectations for his good moments, or Joker was someone special to him.  Maybe it was some strange kind of combination of both.

“You can rest your eyes, Joker,” Hanzo said.  The man looked exhausted as if he hadn't slept well in weeks.  It would do him some good to get some sleep.

“Can't yet.  My brain's moving too fast to stop,” he said.  “Sides, don't think it’s fair to leave you to navigate by yourself.”

“I think I can manage to drive north without help-”

Joker corrected him.  “Northwest.”

“Oh, well then,” Hanzo said, his tone as flat as the desert before them.  “That's far too complicated.  Two whole directions.  At the same time.  What is this madness.  However will I manage.”

The look on Joker’s face was teetering on amused and annoyed, depending on which direction the corner of his mouth ticked.  Hopefully, it was going north.  Or, rather, northwestern.

Joker’s left eyebrow was cocked high and there was a barely hidden smile on his lips.  He waited a moment after Hanzo stopped talking, seeing if there was anything else to be added.  “You done?”

“I believe so, yes.” There was a hint of a smirk under Okami's mask.  “Unless you wish for me to continue?”

“No, no, you made your point, O,” Jesse said.  “I will entrust the driving and navigating to you.  We get lost, though, you ain't hearing the end of it.  I will mock you til’ kingdom come.”

Okami nodded in reply.  “That's fair.”

The conversation died down for a blessed while.  Okami seemed occupied with driving them back to the main road and McCree wasn’t going to distract him.  Didn’t really feel like dying in this desert right now.  Maybe later.

Jesse groped along the side of the chair, thankful when his fingers brushed against the lever on the chair.  He pulled it up gently, leaning back slowly.  The chair didn’t move.  He tried again, but with more power in his effort.  Still didn’t move.  

Oh well.  He’d come back and try this again when the chair was feeling more cooperative.

They had been driving for about thirty minutes when McCree spoke up.  “So you gotta’ map you’re followin’ or you just know where you’re going somehow?”

“Of course I know where I’m going,” Okami said, his voice full of overconfidence. “I’m going east.”

McCree’s mouth dropped a hint. “Fuckin' east!?  Are you kiddin’ me!?-”

“Yes-”

“You have got to be kiddin’ me.”

“I am-”

“We’re in a desert, O, with not that much gas.  I don’t know about you, but I really don’t much feel like _walkin’_ to Vegas from here-” McCree paused, just registering what Okami had said.  “You were kiddin’, weren’t you?” he asked.

“I was.  Humor.  I have heard that it lightens the mood if applied right.  I must not have read the instructions correctly.” Okami said apologetically.  “I apologize if I worried you.  That was not my intention.  We are heading west,  I assure you.  I've been using the minimap on the gps to make sure.” he paused, fingers tensing around the wheel for a moment as he hesitantly continued. “I am not… necessarily _good_ when it comes to… people.  Friendly interactions are not my strong suit.  In fact, I think my best interactions in recent memory have all involved you.  If I have hurt you in any way, it was not intentional by any means-”

“Nah, that ain’t nothing to-... It wasn't-... Don’t worry about it, O.  We’re cool.” Jesse said with a shrug.  “It ain’t no biggie.”

“It is a…” Okami paused as he damn near forced himself to continue, his face getting tight as he battled his unwillingness to say the ridiculous American word. “...a _biggie_. You probably panicked because you are tired.  Emotions run wild when exhaustion hits, I know this and I should not have exacerbated them.” Okami paused.  “And I know you didn’t sleep well last night so I can't blame you for reacting in such a manner.”

He hadn’t slept well at all.  “And you know that because-?”

“Because we were tied together and I felt whenever you flinched in your sleep," Okami explained. "You mumbled too.  Incoherently, but clearly distressed.”

Jesse sagged into his seat.  “Aw, shoot, I’m sorry.  Didn’t mean to keep you awake, O.”

“I have no problems with lacking sleep at the moment.  I have gone and thrived through a week with less than five hours of sleep.  Eventually, I will have to catch up on that rest.” Hanzo said with a one-shouldered shrug. “But missing a bit of sleep is not a hindrance at the moment.  I am fine right now.”  

McCree still didn’t straighten up.  A frown decorated his face.  He still didn’t feel any less guilty about tugging Okami around in their sleep last night.  What kind of man just ups and yanks around another man in his shelving unit home?  Just wasn’t proper.

Okami continued talking, apparently set on reassuring McCree for some reason.  “Do not feel guilty over having a restless night because of a restless mind.  I have been there myself many times, and still struggle to find an inner peace strong enough to silence the thoughts.  We have different experiences, I will not claim otherwise, but you have my sympathy…” he hesitated a moment. “At least what I think is sympathy.”

That last bit really caught McCree’s attention.  “You’re not sure?”

“Emotions are...something I struggle with understanding at times. I was taught to deny them all the time while young.  Now that I am older and getting to experience them organically, I don’t always know what they all necessarily are, save for anger, guilt, and sadness.” Okami stated. “Those I know very well.”

McCree was surprised.  He honestly had no idea that there was _anything_ that Okami struggled with considering how in-control and confident he seemed to be at all times.  It made Okami less like a flawless image of perfection cut from marble and someone far more…  human.  “Well, I appreciate the sympathy, O.  Definitely prefer it to pity.”

Okami gave Jesse a side glance.  “Pity is a false kindness.  Akin to saying that the sight of you upsets someone so much that they feel pressured to fix it for their own comfort.  Helping because of pity is an act to appease a person’s own soul.  Helping because of sympathy is someone trying to understand and alleviate what troubles yours.” His gaze then shifted back towards the road.  “That is a much better motivator for both parties involved, I would think.”

Jesse’s face morphed from a smile into a more blank expression as he processed Okami’s response.  He remembered the stares that he had gotten, the food and too big-clothes tossed his way after his mother died and after his father followed soon after.

Pity.

He lived with his seventy-two-year-old grandmother and seventy-seven-year-old grandfather, helping them tend to the farm until they both passed together in their sleep a four and a half years later.  Losing four folks and his home was too much.  He ran.  And while on the run he had received nothing but hate or pity.  He was a hooligan or he was a poor child.  He was juvie bait or he was a sad case.  They only pretended to care because he was there.  Once he was out of sight, he was out of mind, and no one gave a crap.

Pity.  Stupid, useless pity.

He tried in vain to think of a sympathetic person, someone who hadn’t just looked at him and seen a broken boy to string along with their dental floss-thin false words and patch up with their chewed bubblegum piece of pity.  

Overwatch.  

Ana, Jack, Rein, Torb, and Gabe.  Especially Gabe.

Gabriel Reyes was the first person in a long time to care and see him as a troubled boy in need of help and not a lost cause.  He had given Jesse a new home, a new purpose, and a new family.  He saw Jesse as someone that, with the right care, could do more than just survive in this world; he could thrive.

All because of sympathy.  One ounce of sympathy had given him a new lease on life, more than the countless pounds of pity had ever done.  Sympathy had given him everything.

That lease on life must have expired when Reyes died, though.  He had nothing now.  What he did have left was bagged up and thrown in the backseat, dragged along behind him as he ran from the law that seemed bent on locking him up one way or another.

Fucking pitiful.

“Never thought about it that way before.” he finally mumbled, realizing there was a frigid numbness curling throughout his body as he recollected his past.  “You’re right, though.  You’re right.”

“I usually am.” The intentional overconfidence in Okami’s voice brought a small smile to McCree’s face and brought a small spark of much-needed warmth to his frozen core.

“Modest too.” Jesse chanced at teasing him, chanced at stoking that spark big enough to help thaw him out.

Okami reciprocated.  “Modest?  I?  Never.  No reason to be.”

“Can’t argue with that,” McCree said with a slight grin.  He felt just a bit better now.  Just a bit.  Which wasn’t much, considering how cruddy he felt, but it was something at least.

Okami was heading down towards the main road now, maneuvering the car down a hill and onto the asphalt.  The truck gave a soft whirr as its tires turned on to an actual road as if thanking them for getting it out of the sandy, cracked land behind them.

“I gotta say, you’ve been awful talkative since we hit the road, O,” Jesse said conversationally, wanting to keep his blues at bay.  “Guess being all silent and stoic for so long wore you down a bit, yeah?”

He was caught by surprise when Okami responded with a frustrated sigh, his face tightening into a look of perturbance.

“Joker, we _just_ began driving on the road.” Okami huffed.  “And if you find my talking so _awful_ , you just stop replying.  As socially dense as I can be when it comes to personal interactions, even I can take a hint as obvious as that.”

Okami didn’t sound like he was joking this time. “What?”  McCree shoved himself upright in his seat at the insinuation.  He didn’t like the road the conversation was starting to go down.  

His seat decided that **_now_** was the time to let him lean back, informing him in the most aggressive way possible. It flung itself backward, laying flat as a board, and took him right down with it. “Wh-!?”

His legs kicked up as the rest of him flew back.  He reached out a hand, desperate to find some way to stop himself from falling; there was nothing to grab and nothing to stop him.  The wind was knocked out of him, his hat slid down at an angle, and his mask got twisted around his eyes as he turned his head in a panic, covering up the right peeper completely.

McCree was now struggling to sit upright even though his chair had long since given up on that prospect for itself, reaching down to push himself up. His hand landed on the end of his scarf as he fumbled to sit up and he only got halfway upright before tugging on the scarf yanked him right back down.  Gangly limbs flying once more, after some more struggle, he finally managed to get himself upright, hastening to explain himself.

“O, I didn’t mean- I love talking with you, I just thought that you were bein’ more talkative than normal an- an- and I was enjoying it, that’s all that-”

Okami graced him with a quick glance, but then immediately looked away.  He then shut his eyes tight, normally a dangerous habit while driving but not one on this straight abandoned stretch of road.  He opened them only a moment later, but he refused to look at McCree or give him a half-decent response of any kind.

With his face pinched tight, the car began drifting to the right side of the road.  “O, come on, talk to me here.  We still got a long ways-” Okami slammed the brakes on and the car squealed to a stop.  McCree ended up slamming forward into the dashboard and then getting thrown back down into the flattened seat and down on his back again.  “For God’s sake-”

Scrambling back upright, both for pride’s sake and so that he could defend himself physically in case it came to blows, McCree’s body was tense and his arms were braced in front of his face and torso.  

He was ready for a fight.

But he was not ready for what he saw.

Okami’s forehead was resting on his arm, his body leaning against the steering wheel.  McCree would have been concerned that he hurt himself while slamming on the brakes, but Okami’s shoulders were shaking with silent mirth.  Then a choked chuckle broke loose, which gave way to another one. McCree’s panic began to subside at the sight of a soft snort of laughter bubbling out of Okami.

“Why’dja get so mad?” he finally asked, his arms dropping back to his side and he watched Okami stay slumped against the wheel in a sudden fit of helpless giggling.

“I don’t-” Another choked snort.  “I don’t remember.  I don’t care.”

“Hell, O, you’re always geared up for a fight, I swear,” McCree said with a nervous laugh as he reached up and finally began straightening out his eye mask.  He took a moment to straighten himself up, giving himself a second to just breathe. His heart had been racing in a panic and it was only beginning to slow down to a reasonable pace.

“I’m sorry for-I’m sorry.  I did not mean to- I just cannot-  I did not- ” Okami held up a finger from the hand on the steering wheel, his head still pressed against his arm.  “A- A moment.  Please.”

“Take your time, sweetheart.” McCree was growing more and more tickled by the situation and fought to keep his own relieved laughter contained as the two of them tried to recover.  

After another two minutes, Okami’s laughing was dying down or he was just running out of breath.  Finally giving a soft chuckle of his own, one both from amusement and relief, McCree ran a hand under his hat, through his hair, and leaned back to properly relax in his seat.  

With the rapid onset of panic and relief distracting him, it had slipped his mind that his seat was no longer a seat, and instead taken up a dazzling new career as a cushioned plank.  

There was a loud thump as he not-so-gracefully tumbled flat onto his back once again.  Okami let loose a fresh howl of laughter and McCree had no choice but to join in this time with a sobbing laugh of his own.

They were tired idiots who just found out that their adrenaline left them long ago, who had just survived their own kind of hell together.  They both needed this release in the worst way.  

Was it so wrong for them to fall apart now?

If being wrong meant having a crying of laughter session with a friend in a car out in the middle of nowhere, then McCree never wanted to be right.

The two of them were sad, sorry sights of giggle-fit incarnate.  Okami finally leaned back away from the steering wheel and against his properly behaving seat.  His face was red from gasping for breath and his already smudged eyeliner was trailing down his cheeks as he cried with laughter

The laughter ripped deep in McCree’s core, his muscles tightening as another peal of laughter tore through him.  He brought an arm up to cover his eyes, which were now watering something fierce.  A tear ran down his cheek, skating by his ear.  

He hadn’t been ready for this much raw emotion to come to the surface.  He hadn’t been prepared.  Everything he had been holding in broke loose.  His sobs of laughter turned into sobs of sadness before he could stop himself, his howling turning from humored to hysterical.  The dam he had built during this job had shattered and a flood of tears was pouring out.  

Now wasn’t the time.  This isn’t what he wanted.  This wasn’t supposed to have happened.

He had tried to pretend that fighting this gang hadn’t bothered him. It had.  By God, it had.  He had been reliving his days of Deadlock since day one, stuck in a nightmarish fever dream of reality, remembering the feeling of being a helpless kid thrown onto the front line of a bloodbath.  

Not everyone in that gang that they had fought had been that young.  Most of the members had been men old enough to know better.  There was no regret in taking the ringleaders out.  They had deserved it.

But not those kids though.  Not the kids.  No money had been worth having to be any part of that.

And now here he was.  Gone from laughing his guts up to crying his heart out in less than five minutes.  He had finally lost all semblance of control in the worst possible way.

He couldn’t stop himself.  A heart-wrenching howl broke through his sobbing. A steady stream of tears flowed down his cheeks.  He struggled to catch his breath through all the bawling.  His prosthetic clawed at the leather seat, his fingers ripping through the seat's cover as easily as paper.  He was searching for something.  He didn’t know what he wanted, he just knew that he needed _something._  

His hysterics kept him from feeling a hand slipping into his flesh and bone one, the arm over his face tensing as he unconsciously clenched at the hand like it was a lifeline.  In a way, it was.  It felt good to have something to hold, even if he didn’t exactly realize that he _was_ holding anything at the moment.  It helped to slowly ground him and bring him back to the present.

Eventually, he ran out of tears.  His breathing began to even out despite the occasional sob still caught him off-guard.  He finally felt that there was something in his hand, though he wasn't sure what, and gave it a testing squeeze.  In response, the hand he was holding gave him comforting squeeze back.  The thumb then resumed rubbing slow circles on the back of his hand;  McCree didn’t know when that calming kneading on his hand had begun, but he hadn’t known to miss it until stopped and he was thankful when it resumed once more.

There was only one person that hand could belong to.  McCree wasn’t sure that he could look Okami in the face anymore.  Not after this.

Men weren’t supposed to cry, especially not men in their line of work.  It was weak.  He was weak.  Knowing Okami, the man probably didn’t have time for weak.  Not when only the strong survived in their world.

The sooner they got the inevitable taunting and teasing about him being weak-hearted moron out of the way, the sooner they could pretend it hadn’t happened.  They only had to pretend for a few mores hours, then they’d never have to see each other again and they could just forget it.  

Now he had gone and ruined this relationship before it had ever had a chance to go anywhere.  His first one-on-one time with the man he adored with all his heart and soul and he had already blown his chances at anything.  He felt his throat tighten at the realization.  

He’d never meant to be the living example of a fuck-up; it wasn’t his fault he had turned out too screwed up to ever patch up proper again.  He didn’t mean to ruin every good thing that ever crossed his path.  He didn’t mean to.  It just kept happening no matter how hard he tried.  

Idiot.  Stupid.   _Weak_.

Begrudgingly, he took the arm off of his eyes and looked towards Okami.  He was not yet ready to get the beginning of the end started, but it had to start somewhere so he sucked it up because he'd fucked it up.  His eyes readjusting to the light, it took him a moment to get his bearings back proper. 

There wasn't much to take it.  Okami had popped his own seat flat and was sitting cross-legged, reaching across the small console to console.  The truck’s engine was silent, a sign that Okami had turned it off some time ago.

McCree would have sat up too, but he was feeling far too tired.  Instead, he slung his arm back over his eyes and hid from the world around him.  It had been a long time since he had cried and it had taken a lot out of the little energy he had left.  Besides that, the longer he lay here, pretending that nothing else existed, the longer he could avoid the coming conversation about the end of everything he had ever wanted.

Okami was the first to break the long silence between them.  “This vile job got to you too then?”

Hearing the question asked in such a quiet tone, McCree hesitantly slid the arm back off of his eyes.  Looking at Okami’s face, he could see that the man’s eyes were red from silent crying, the liner trails down his cheeks were heavier than before too.  McCree wasn’t the only one that had needed this emotional bleeding out.  They both had.  Desperately.

Maybe it wasn’t actually so wrong for them to fall apart after all.

“Yeah.” McCree’s voice was hoarse when he spoke.  It made him wonder how much he had been saying or screaming while sobbing.  “Those were _kids_.”

Okami took a shuddering breath.  “They were.”

“And we killed them.”

“You and I did not,” he said, looking McCree straight in the eyes.

“They still died,” McCree said, fighting back a fresh wave of tears.  He had just stopped crying.  He didn’t want to start again.  Not yet.  Not here.

“Some of them did.”  Okami gave his hand another squeeze. “But more of them lived than if it hadn’t been you and I as their opponents.”

“They still _died_ , O.”

“I know,” Hanzo said quietly.  “Believe me, Joker, I _know_.”

When Hanzo had looked at those young faces, he had seen Genji.  And despite his efforts, he had seen Genji get cut down in front of him over and over.  He had been having more vivid nightmares about the night he had killed his brother.  He had been having that nightmare for years, but while sleeping in this warehouse, every night after the battles, he could have sworn that he actually felt the blood splash onto his face and the weight of that damn sword in his hands.

Joker and he had tried their best to let the young ones live.  They had tried so hard.  To have been tested with the responsibilities of such a task and to have failed to any degree… It was enough to drive a man mad.  It was enough to break a man’s spirit.  Hanzo was no exception.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.  At least it was not just his own weakness showing.  It was an emotional weakness they both shared that had come to light.  Hanzo found he was relieved just a bit at that revelation.  It was crushing to be the only one to shoulder a burden, at least with someone else suffering likewise the weight was light for them both.

Even he had been able to tell that Joker had been uneasy.  Hanzo had tried to get him talking during the ride, but he hadn’t imagined that it would come to this.  The two of them had just been laughing a moment ago.  He hadn’t imagined that Joker would break down like this.  He wouldn’t have guessed that he would have lost his self-control like this either.  He had thought himself better than that.

Joker swallowed thickly again, twisting awkwardly in the seat. He reached back with his prosthetic, making sure to keep a grip on Hanzo’s hand with his real one.  “I need a drink.  Alcohol.  S’in m’bag.  Could you-”

Hanzo shifted to pull a flask off of his hip.  “I have sake.  The drink you had last night.  Would you like some of it?”  He didn’t want to risk breaking his hold on Joker while he reached towards the back.  They both needed this.

Joker held out his prosthetic towards Hanzo, hand palm-side up and open for the flask.  “Please.”

“Have as much as you want,” Hanzo said as he handed Joker the flask.  “That will return the favor from last night.”

Joker said nothing else, instead twisting off the cap with his teeth and dropping it by his head, a clearly practiced motion, and taking a long swig of the drink.  He gave a soft moan of appreciation as the alcohol hit his tongue.  His Adam's apple bobbed as he took desperate pulls, eyes closing as his only focus became the drink.

The twinge of jealousy that Hanzo was feeling towards his bottle were swiftly pushed aside as he realized that Joker wasn’t just trying to calm his nerves with the drink; he was trying to get blind drunk so that he could forget the world, if just for only a bit.  

Though, as his eyes flicked back to his bag in the backseat, he realized that he had no grounds to judge.  He was no better, and, in some ways, he might be worse.  He even carried a drink on his hip, for easy access.  Joker had a bottle of whiskey in his bag, assuming he hadn’t finished the bottle at dinner last night.  They were both ready to lose themselves to an addiction, a distraction from reality, at a moment’s notice.

How shameful.  How weak.

Putting it out of his mind, he focused on the present situation.  He didn’t want to think about how pitiful they were.  He wasn’t ready to face the thought.

“Give me the flask a moment.” Hanzo found himself saying, and Joker obliged him near immediately.  As he tilted his head back, it suddenly struck him that he still had a mask over his mouth.  “Cover your eyes now.”

Joker obliged him yet again, immediately obeying the command.  He slung his arm back over his eyes, still refusing to let go of Hanzo’s hand, relaxed as he awaited permission to uncover them.  As he tugged the fabric down under his chin, Hanzo couldn’t help but idly wonder what else he could order Joker to do and how much he could get away with.

He didn’t think about that for long, though.  Not when he had the drink in his hand.  He took a small sip, thankful to get even just a drop of alcohol on his tongue.  He needed it.  The only reason he didn’t indulge further was that he was the one driving.  With that one sip to sate him, he pulled his mask back up and handed the flask back.  “Finished.  Thank you.”

Joker uncovered his eyes as he reached for the flask once more.  “You sure I can drink more of this?”

“If you’re asking if I would stop you, then no,” Hanzo replied simply.  “If you’re asking if I should stop you, then I don’t know.  Are _you_ sure that you should drink more?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Joker responded right before he wrapped his lips back around the flask and took another pull.

“Then I won’t be the one to stop you.”  Hanzo almost leaned back against the car door, but the threat of losing his grip on Joker, whose hand tightened as he inadvertently pulled away, kept him sitting upright on the flattened chair.  “If you need someone to talk to, Joker, I am here.”

“Of course you’re _here_.  You ain’t got many other places you can go right now, do’ya?” Joker said with a dry laugh.

Hanzo furrowed his brow.  “I mean I am willing to listen to what you have to say.” His frown deepened. “You know that’s what I meant.”

“Maybe I did.  Maybe I didn’t.” Joker mumbled, his teeth still clenched around the flask’s mouth as he stopped mid-sip to reply.

“You _know_ that I wasn’t pointing out the fact that we are stuck in a truck in the middle of the desert.” Hanzo scolded.  “You keep playing the fool and it is unbecoming for a man of your caliber to act this way.”

“‘Fraid I don’t know what you’re talking about O,” Joker said.  “I ain’t playing dumb-”

This continued denial was angering Hanzo.  This was getting annoying.  He wasn’t falling into the distraction trap that Joker was laying in an effort to redirect the conversation.  Genji had done so many times in the past.  It wasn’t going to happen here too.

“You are.  You’re playing at being a fool because you’re trying to avoid talking about anything.  I’ve been trying to get you to talk this whole time.  Even I could see that something was bothering you, Joker.  Give me one word about why you don’t want to talk and I will cease  _attempting_ to _help_ you.” Hanzo looked down at the other man in frustration, unaware how hard his stare was becoming.  “I am not trapped in here with _you_.  You are trapped in here with _me_ and I am _completely_ willing to be an ear for you to lighten your burden; do not attempt to act stupid or in denial about this again, or so help me I will climb on you, hold you down, and start a damn _interrogation_ to make you talk.”

Jesse was fairly certain there were a number of things that Okami could do on top of him to get him talking.  None of them were appropriate to bring up considering how the last two weeks they had suffered out here included a thousand and one sexual threats being thrown Okami’s way.

McCree could dream, though.  He could dream.

“Was that a sincere offer?  Because I’m trying to figure out if you just offered to help me or if that was you just admitting to wantin’ to torture me somehow.” McCree asked seriously, growing too tired to argue or stall for much longer.  “The angry tone and glarin’ is throwin’ me off.”

Hanzo tried to soften both his voice and his stare.  It worked, kind of.  Not really.  Facial expressions were not his strong suit. “It’s an offer to listen if you will take it,” Hanzo said seriously as he met Joker's gaze.

Joker's eyes bore into Hanzo's, easily meeting his stare.  “You’re really making it sound like I don’t got a choice, sugar.”

“You do,” Hanzo said as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.  He was weak for those drawled nicknames that Joker used.  So weak.  “Just say that you can’t talk about it.  You don’t have to say why, just that you can’t, and I will leave you alone for the rest of the drive.  But the offer _is_ there if you wish to take it.”

“It's a hell of an offer," Jesse mused.  “And the nicest offer I’ve ever been threatened with too.”

“It was not meant to be a threat,” Okami explained sheepishly.  “I have already told you that I am bad with people”  

"Not bad, just... overly-passionate that your way's the best, which I don't doubt, to be honest.  Tone that down and you're golden." McCree replied, interrupting himself with a sigh.  “You _really_ want to listen?”

Okami gave him a nod.  “I do.”

“You any good at it?” he asked.

“The best.”

McCree couldn’t help the small smile that ticked onto his lips.  “There anything you ain't the best at?”

Okami shook his head.  “Not much, no.”

“Didn't think so,” Joker said amiably. “Okay then.  Well…”

Joker trailed off, and his words died down.  There was a long silence in the car as he pondered how to say what he wanted to say.  The dry wind skated by, the loose sand swirled as the breeze toyed with it, and the sparse bushes swayed slightly when the gusts tickled their branches.  There was no sound to be heard in the car, save for their quiet breathing.

“That coulda’ been me out there.” Joker finally murmured, breaking the long silence.

Okami looked him over.  “What do you mean?” He asked gently.

“I used to be part of a gang.  One like this.  Was initiated when I was thirteen and a half.  Busted when I was seventeen.  In that hell for three an’ a half years.” He swallowed.  “Any of those babies that died.  That coulda’ been me.  They ain’t ever gonna get a chance to help themselves now.  Not like I did.” A fresh stream of tears started welling in his eyes and Jesse pulled his hand away from Okami’s to wipe them away.  “Oh, fuck.  Shit.  Goddamit.”

“Joker, I saw you on the field.  You took no lives that did not deserve it.” Hanzo said, aware that his words were only a crude comfort at best.  There really was no bright side to look at when the reality of the situation was so dark.  “I watched you let them live.  I watched them run to freedom.  By us taking down the gang they have a new chance at a freedom they did not possess before.”

“Unless they ain’t got nowhere to go an’ get caught up in another one.” Joker countered.

“I would like to think that staring down the barrel of a gun makes one rethink their lif, choices.” Hanzo said, hesitatingly tucking his hand back towards his body.  He wasn’t sure what to do with it now that Joker had pulled his own hand away.  Hanzo hadn’t been ready to let go.  “You could have been their executioner, but you chose not to pull the trigger.  It is because of you that they live.  If they are smart, they will take their second chance at life gracefully and make use of it rather than throwing it away.”

Jesse didn’t feel much better about the situation, a bit better maybe, but finally talking it out did make the weight lighter in his chest.  He knew that from this point on he’d start feeling more normal now that he had let everything crumble.  After you hit rock-bottom, the only direction to go is up.

“I guess fate decides what happens to them now.” Joker murmured.  “At least for the ones that _fate_ didn’t _kill_.”

“That’s not how fate works,” Hanzo said quietly.

Joker didn’t seem to quite catch his statement.  “Pardon?”

“That’s not how fate works,” Hanzo said slightly louder.  “At least not to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that fate does not determine who lives and who dies.  That is not what fate does.” Hanzo explained.  “What fate does is bring a person or people to where they are meant to be at a certain time.  How those people choose to act is on them, not fate.”

“So…” Joker processed his explanation.  “Us being here together is fate?”

“Yes.  Fate decides where people end up and who they come across on the road of life.  Man determines his own actions from there.” Hanzo said. “You letting the young ones live wasn’t fate choosing a course; it was you.  Fate put you here, Joker, and let you decide what happened to those young ones on the field. And you chose life.”

If only Hanzo could have done the same, those many years ago.  Where would he and Genji be now if he had even an ounce of the humanity that Joker possessed?  What his life be like if he had too chosen life?

It didn’t matter now.  He had failed this test long ago.  As he had long since learned, ruminations created no solutions.  Actions did, for they spoke a thousand times louder than words.  Unless that action was killing your own brother.  Then the only sound for miles was a deafening silence.

“So fate _put_ us in a car together, but us being civilized an’ talking shit out instead of knifin’ each other ain’t fate, right?” Joker asked, pulling Hanzo back into the present.  “That’s our own choice.  I got that right?” 

“Correct.” Hanzo gave him an approving half-nod.  “For someone who thinks himself a fool, you comprehend personal philosophy quite quickly.”

Joker blew out an obnoxious breath, “Maybe you’re just a good explainer, you ever think of that?”

“Attempting to lower my expectations by dismissing your achievements isn’t going to work. I mean you no harm and there’s no reason to protect yourself from me.”  Joker leaned away from Hanzo, eyes widening.  Hanzo felt he knew why Joker continually played dumb.  If expectations for him were lower, it would be easier to make others proud or to pull a fast one if the situation arose.  Joker’s reaction had confirmed that he was right.

Genji had pulled that trick all of the time with their teachers.  If he continually “improved” by doing slightly better than the day before, but never showed his best, then their teachers were proud of his achievements and would not expect as much out of him.  It was an easy way to set the bar lower for oneself, so that skating by on natural talent, rather than putting in the work to improve said talent, was a more feasible option.

Joker played dumb for a reason.  As far as Hanzo could tell, he wanted others to think less of them so that he could get away with more.  If they didn’t realize that he was planning ahead, then they wouldn’t bother preparing themselves for that possibility.  It was clever.  But it was unnecessary here.

There was another long silence between them, this one awkwardly sudden.  

Hanzo didn’t know what he should say, or if there even was anything to say now that he had ruined everything, so he instead popped his seat back up and started the car.  Without a word, they were heading down the road once again, having spent close an hour stopped here talking and working things out, and, in Hanzo’s case, screwing them up.  Maybe it was for the best that they got a move on and pretended none of this happened.

As he drove, Hanzo idly wondered where he had made a mistake.  Perhaps pointing out how he knew what Joker was trying to pull with pretending to be dull-witted had not been the best move.  Why was socialization in a friendly context so difficult?  He hadn’t been trained for this kind of situation.  He had been taught how to kill men with finesse, not how to kill them with kindness.

How his statement affected Joker, he couldn’t tell.  Thankfully, the man skimmed past the conversational faux pas by changing the subject and began talking once more.

“Listen, I gotta’ ask.  Is that why you were so talkative since we’ve been driving?  To try to get me talkin’ about what was on m’mind.  That’s what you said, innit’?” Joker asked, fighting to pull his chair back upright with him in it.  He clumsily succeeded, barely conquering the chair before it could defeat him once more.  “An’ it’s only fair that you tell me.  I told you plenty of personal shit.”

“Yes, it was.” Hanzo admitted this easily, hastening to explain himself, “That is how…ah, chest-baring conversations always start.  I say something heartfelt and personal about myself, you take that as a cue to add something about yourself.  I add onto that.  You continue and finally say what was bothering you.  We talk it out in a raw, emotional discussion.  You feel better.  The credits roll as we drive towards the sun.” Hanzo paused.  “Or off a cliff.  In some sort of solidarity, I think.  I have seen that happen too.” He looked over at Joker.  “I’d prefer not that one.”

“The credits roll?” Joker asked, clearly amused.

“Or the chapter ends,” Hanzo said exasperatedly.  “My experiences of having an actual personal relationship, and not one that is the bare minimum social interaction possible, and not just talking ‘business’ with people, is very limited.  If the movies that I lipread on flights or the...relationship-based books I buy in gift-shops for the trip are my only experience, that’s hardly my fault.”

“Relationship-based books where the chapter ends after a - what did you say? - ‘raw, emotional discussion’?” Joker asked slowly.  “Did you just admit to reading romance novels?”

Hanzo pulled his bottom lip with his teeth, his eyes widening as it just sunk in what he had let slip.  Oh shit.  Men like him, especially ones in their line of work, weren’t supposed to read books like that, were they?  Damn it.

“The choices in a gift-shop are very limited.” Hanzo quickly argued, trying to save face.  “And-”

Joker laughed good-naturedly, interrupting him. “One of my favorite authors is Raiden Bareback.  If you like Western romances, he’s your guy.”

Of course Joker would be the only other mercenary in the world to happily admit to reading that trash.  Of course.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Okami said, relaxing into his seat.

“It can be kinda formulaic at time: man meets obvious romantic interest, they talk, problem pops up, they fuck in frustration, problem fixes itself, they fuck again except more romantic like, the end.” Jesse said.  “But I’m guessing that if you’re reading a trashy romance, it ain’t for the plot.  Only found myself interested in the plot in a handful of ‘em, everything else was about getting to the good parts; the occasional gun fights and the hot n’ heavy sex scenes.”

“I do read for the plot most of the time.  I use it to help my conversational and interpersonal skills.”  It was obvious there was a sly grin under his mask.  “Clearly that’s working out for me.”

“Clearly.” Joker grinned back.  “No, but really, you’re doing fine.  Iffina’ you hadn’t told me you didn’t get people all that much, I wouldn’t have ever thought that you struggled with ‘em ever.”

“Truly?” Okami glanced over and tilted his head as he looked towards McCree, looking too much like an inquisitive puppy.  That wasn’t fair.

“Yep.  Wouldn’t have had a clue.” McCree told him.  “I mean, you got your quirks, but they ain’t nothing too bad.  ‘Sides, there ain’t no one here on this earth that don’t got a quirk of some kind.  Yours ain’t that bad at all. I gotta admit, I kind of like ‘em.”

“Really now?  Do you?” Okami replied. Did Okami’s voice just get a bit deeper?   McCree had thought he heard a hint of a low growl in his words.

Oh.  Interesting.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I really do.” McCree leaned over onto the console, resting his head in his prosthetic hand.  “You know, if you’re interested, maybe you an’ me could get together an’-”

It then occurred to McCree that there was something soft tickling his face.  His hand was metal, it wasn’t supposed to be soft nor tickly.  He cut himself off mid-sentence to look at his hand and found that the many small hinges on his hand had foam stuffing from the chair caught all throughout them.  It must have been from when he had dug his hand into it, back during his breakdown.  Fucking fantastic.

“-Shit.”

Okami snorted in faux annoyance.  “The offer is an interesting one, but I find that is more a solo activity.” he teasingly chided. “If you need me to pull over so you can relieve yourself, there are certainly other ways to ask than through a false proposition, Joker.  You might disappoint someone asking in a manner such as that ”

“No, O, that’s not what I was-” McCree turned towards the back seat and pulled his backpack up into his lap.  “My hand’s got stuff caught in it from the chair.  I need to clean it out ‘fore it jams up the hinges an’ locks them up for good.  That’s what I was ‘shit’ing about.”

“And I feel like that is one of the worst possible reactions to have in that situation.” If it hadn’t been obviously clear that Okami was teasing him, then McCree would have kicked up a hissy fit at the implication that he had browned his britches over something like this.

“That’s enough, O.  I got maintenance work to do,” McCree grunted as he pulled a small kit out of his bag.  “Might as well see if I can fix the spring that popped in the fight too.”

“Best of luck with that.  Those things are difficult to deal with.” Okami said sincerely.  “I’ll allow you to fully concentrate on what you’re doing.”

“‘Preciate it,” McCree grunted, already dreading the task before him.

McCree began cleaning out the hinges, growling in frustration when the odd piece of foam broke off while he was pulling it out.  If it crumbled in the mechanisms, then there was a chance it could lock it up in the future and that had the chance of being the death of him if it happened at a poor time.

Once McCree felt that he had pulled ninety-nine point nine percent of the foam, which was a hell of an easier task when the foam stayed in one piece, he switched the tweezers out for a size four spodal wrench, one of the mid-range sizes.  The wrench was also part of a kit that Torbjorn had given him, apparently a standard for this sort of prosthetic, to help keep up with maintenance.

McCree was half convinced that the names he had been for the tools were made-up by Torb on the spot as a joke despite having seen the names in an instruction book for repairing a torn twinge-string a couple months back; for all he knew, the writer was in on the joke.  The world usually seemed to be in on any joke that made a fool of Jesse McCree.

The set had an assortment of spodal wrenches, a keyhead jammer, five condubits in different sizes, a fancy-ass multi-tool that had to be a Swiss army knife from the heavens themselves, winchels for winding the tension, a heavy-duty small-sized soldering kit, three and two-pronged jarrsons for any quick system reprogramming or updating needed, a socket cap to cover up the nerve plug-in if the arm had to come off, plus nerve ending electrion clockers to ensure that the speeds of the systems, both the machines and the humans, were ticking at the right speed together.  Too fast and it flung a fella’s arm around the second the thought crossed his mind, even if he wasn’t committed to the action.  Too slow and the message from the brain wouldn’t be sent to limb in time.  It had to be just right to make sure to keep stuttering starts and stops to a minimum.

All of this was packed up neatly in a small kit with a spot for every tool.  Well, it should have been packed up neatly.  It had been at one time, McCree was sure.  It was more a chaotic mess now with all the items loose in the case.  It took him carefully balancing the hard-covered kit in his lap to keep everything from spilling out.

While he was working, Okami quietly flipped on the radio, keeping the volume low enough to not bother McCree.  He changed the station a few times and found nothing but faint songs drowning in heavy static.  He quickly turned it off and breathed out quietly.  It seemed he wasn’t a fan of silence.  McCree could sympathize.

McCree had used the size four spodal to pop open the cover on his wrist.  The spring that kept breaking on him was the one helping mimic the metacarpals in his hand.  With that loose spring, the finesse motions were in his hand were a bit iffier than they should have been.  This spring had been gotten loose on him before, so replacing it shouldn’t take him too long or require his full concentration, not like cleaning did.  He could entertain a conversation while he worked on this.

“O, can I ask you something?” McCree asked.  “It’s about you an’ it might end up kinda personal in a way, so I just thought I’d check with you first, I guess.”

“I make no promises to answer,” Okami replied simply, seemingly thankful at someone finally breaking the silence, “but you may go ahead and ask.”

“Alright.” McCree said.  “So what I’m wonderin’ is if you have a reason that you’re, like, always ready to brawl if I say something you take as an insult.  Anger issues?  You just like punching people and'll use any excuse to do it?  Why?”

“Ah, that _is_ personal.” Okami stayed quiet after that, and McCree took that as a sign that his question had been voted off the island.  Better it than him.  Okami speaking again so suddenly was a surprise.  “But I can answer it as best I can without getting too personal if that will suffice.”

“Answer however you want, ambiguously or not.  That’ll more than suffice for lil’ ol me.” McCree told him.

Okami grew silent again, focuses on driving as he debated how he wanted to answer.  McCree could borderline see the gears spinning in his head as he planned on what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it.  He straightened up after a minute, apparently having figured it all out.

“Growing up, when I was very young, many of the adults I was taught to look up to in my life were supportive.  Around age five or six was when this changed.” Okami said slowly.  

McCree had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything, especially to keep from pointing out that being five or six made someone a _child,_ and Lord how did what sounded like a village fuck up raising a kid so bad that he felt like he was being attacked at the drop of a hat.  Jesse was sure he was about to find out.

“That was when… When I was taught that I needed to take responsibility more seriously.  That is when the coddling stopped.  From that point on, I had to earn every drop of praise I wanted to receive.  The older I got, the more difficult it was.” Okami said.  “Nothing I did was good enough.  And if it was just good enough, then why couldn’t it be better?  Eventually, the fishing for compliments became me being desperate for any sort of approval.  Tongue-lashings were more easily found than any sort of familiarity by the time I was ten, belittlements were as expected as a sunrise in the morn.  Any attempt at rebellion was promptly squashed and used against me as punishment.”

McCree stared in horror as he talked. “Why the hell would they put a kid through that?”  McCree didn’t mean to voice the question on his mind.  It just slipped out, taking advantage of his appallment to pass through.

“For control.  They wanted to ensure control over what they deemed my destiny.  By all means, it _should_ have been my destiny.” Okami said simply.  “By the time I was eighteen I had long since given up on thinking for myself.  Whatever I thought for myself was wrong.  ‘Obedience is a virtue’, ‘do as your duty commands’, ‘submission to you elders is a necessity’, ‘compliance is commendable’,  ‘good boys listen and do what they are told’.  I heard those phrases many times throughout the years." The steering wheel cover creaked under his tightening grip. "Many, many times.”

“How’dja get out of there if you don’t mind my asking.  Sounds like a hell of a cult.”

“It was in a way, yes.  That line of propaganda about the good children obeying was the only way I was called good for many years, but never once was I 'good enough'...” he mused, his voice growing quieter before he spoke up and continued.  “I was desperate for praise, desperate for anything that was positive.  I stopped thinking for myself and I just did whatever they told me because it must be the best thing to do.  Whatever they told me to believe, I did, whether it be about their words, or my own thoughts or decisions or actions, for I had long lost track of what thoughts had _ever_ been my own.” he sighed. “I gave up and let them have the control they wanted.  That was dangerous.  Stupid.  So very stupid.”

He grew quiet.  A glum look crossed his face as he let out a soft shaky breath.  McCree could see the motion of him biting down on his lip under his mask and saw how his grip tightened further on the steering wheel.  Concerned, McCree just about told him that he didn’t have to say another word, but Okami cut him off before he had the chance and continued.

“By the time I finally had my eyes opened to the world built around me, the first thing I saw was that my hands were _drenched_ in blood.  I finally saw that the anger I had been told I felt was not my own, that _nothing_ I felt or thought was my own, nothing but my actions, which I will forever take full responsibility for, and even those had been scripted for me.  The first _thought_ I had at the moment of waking up was not even my own.  It was a _proud_ one, telling me that I had done the right thing and done what was best.  Then I heard two voices through the static, one that was screaming in agony and one that was nothing but quiet horror, telling me to look at what I had done.  To really look and _see_ and decide if anything I could ever gain was worth what I had lost.” he paused. “It was not.  It never was.”

Okami let out another breath.  McCree knew better than to even dare take one while he was getting all of this off his chest.  McCree had already had his front seat therapy session; now it was Okami’s turn.

“And I ran because the first thing I had to see before myself was a nightmare come true, done by my own hands, all because I allowed it to happen by being so _weak_.” he glanced at McCree.  “That is what it took for me to want to leave.”

“You ain’t weak just because you’ve been broken down your whole life,” McCree said, idly going back to tinkering with his arm.

“I am weak because I allowed it to happen,” he growled. “I am weak because, despite all that transpired, it still took me months to finally abscond in the middle of the night through the nearby woods using a thunderstorm as cover.”

“You still left, though,” McCree argued. “That ain’t weak-.”

Okami cut him off.  “With the time it took, it is.”

“-That’s strong.  You’re strong.  Because despite all that shit that coulda' taken you down, you’re still here.” McCree continued, still fiddling with the inside of his metal arm.  “You may be cracked in some places, but you’re picking up the mess that other people made of you and you’re doing a fine job of it, O.  I think that’s the biggest ‘fuck you’ you could give ta’ anyone, getting shit done your own way an’ living life on your terms ‘steada’ theirs.  An’ that’s the best way to get back at assholes like that.  By shitting on ‘em an’ their hopin’ for your failure.” McCree told him. “That’s what makes you strong, O.  Livin’.”

“I had never thought about it that way before,” Okami admitted reluctantly.  McCree got the feeling he wasn’t just talking about the cussing or the odd phrasing.

“That’s ‘cause you’re stuck down in the hole right now an’ ain’t got much of a view, but you know there’s better place than bein’ in that hole so you’re doin’ everything you can to climb out,”  McCree said, swapping his spodal for the screwdriver on the multi-tool.  “Me?  I’m just the guy at the top of the hole who’s willin’ to hold down a hand an’ help you out.”

“So you wish to coddle me and carry me away from my problems like in those trashy books?  That’s not how life works.” Okami scoffed. “It is why I read them.  Because they are not like real life.”

McCree paused on his repairs and extended his arm out as far in front of him as he could.  “Now, darlin’, I don’t know how long you think my arms are, but I can’t possibly reach all the way down if you’re stuck at the bottom.  If you’re far enough up to grab on, that’s what you did with your own strength.  I ain’t no Stretch Armstrong.”

Okami looked out the side of his eyes.  “I have no idea what that is, but I assume it is relevant to the current topic.”

“Listen, O, everyone needs a helpin’ hand at some point, even you.  If that’s what helps you outta there at all, great, but you and I both know that you made most of that climb yourself.” McCree said.  “I’ve made a climb outta’ a dark place too with plenty of people helpin’ to pull my ass up on outta' there, an’ I know that it’s worth the effort.  Up at the top, there’s all the sunshine you could ever want, which, personally, I prefer to that dark, dank hole.  The sun ain’t always there, sometimes it goes behind a raincloud, but it always comes back, even if it’s gone for… for years.” His smile fell as he paused. “...It’s got to come back eventually.  It can’t be gone forever, right?”

Where had his sunshine gone?  Where had the happiness that he had fought so hard for gone?  It had to be out there somewhere, didn’t it?  It was suddenly hard to advocate for fighting the good fight if all the rewards were for naught.

He couldn't help but wonder: would his life be any worse now if he was still stuck down in his hole?

Okami spoke, distracting him from his thoughts.  “That’s a touching sentiment, but I am confused by the metaphor.  Am I not getting any sunlight in my hole?  That’s not how the sun works.  Nor holes.”

McCree huffed.  “Well, _now_ you ain’t gettin’ any.”

“Why?  Did you just put a lid on my hole?  That’s not fair.  That keeps me from climbing out.” Okami pointed out.  “Or did you bribe the sun to shine everywhere but above me?  That would be impressive.  Or did you perhaps get an umbrella to hold above-?”

“You’re in a well or something.  That’s it.” McCree said gruffly, going back to screwing with his prosthetic. “One of them old-fashioned wells with the spinny handle an’ the cute lil roof with a weathervane of a rooster on top.  You’re climbin’ outta one of those.”

“I prefer that.  It’s easier to find a grip in a well because of the bricks than it would be to manhandle the mud into supplying some leverage.  I can climb that.” Okami paused.  “Not that I’m saying that I can’t climb out of a regular hole.  I was tossed into those and made to climb out all of the time as a child.  A well’s just easier.  But I can climb just about anything.”

“So I’ve seen.  I swear you’re part squirrel or somethin’.”

“Just allow me to finish with your question.  I have not answered your actual question.  I would like to finish if that is alright.  It will bother me if I don't,” Okami said, waiting for McCree to silently nod his approval.  “My first thought, whenever I am demeaned, is that I think that whoever said it is attempting to plant a seed of vulnerability that they continue to water with attacks and grow until they’ve curled their roots all throughout my body, soul, and mind. A dog baring fangs is far less inviting than one that rolls over.  Intimidation and fury is what I was always taught while growing up.  It is what I know.” He sighed.  “And I know you are not attempting to control me.  And I do trust you.  But sometimes if I misinterpret what you mean as an attack, I tend to fall back on instinct before I fall back on logic, and my animalistic instinct usually tells me to instigate a fight to show that I will conquer anyone who dares attempt to use me.  Do not take it personally, Joker.  It is not aimed at you.”

“Ain’t ever taken it personally.  Just figured that you had a quick-draw temper that ran out as fast as it ran up.” McCree said.  He paused to sift through the tools on his lap, plugging the soldering tool into the cigarette lighter socket.   “So, like, when you fall back on that, is there anything I can do to help you feel better?  If there’s something I could do to help you feel better, I’d love to know.”

Okami thought for a moment.  “...Just continue to do what you have been doing.  Don’t take the bait of a challenge I set and my spirits will calm soon after.” he glanced towards McCree. “It feels out of my control at times, so I feel it is only fair to warn you before you take my bark seriously and we end up biting each other because we’re both prideful fools.”

“I doubt it’d come to blows that fast.  I usually try to pick m’fights better’n that.” McCree said.  “Ain’t no one gonna take a man seriously if he puts up his dukes at every fella’ that looked at him funny.”  McCree felt the soldering tool carefully, to make sure that it was warming up properly.  It was, but it wasn’t hot enough to use yet.  Opening his mouth to say something, McCree glanced over at Okami and snapped his trap shut.

McCree was certainly glad that he wasn’t the type of man to start a fight over something as simple as look because Okami was shooting him an odd one right now.

“I don’t know what you’re thinkin’, O,” McCree said to him, “But it’d help if you said it out loud.”

“I apologize.  I just...It-...I’ve never-...” Hanzo stopped talking and focused on the quiet road far more than he needed to.  His eyes caught sight of a sign announcing a rest stop coming up down the road.  He’d need to remember that or find one later while they were still far from civilization.

“Never what?” Joker carefully prompted.

“I’ve never...Talked about any of that before with anyone.” Hanzo admitted.  “And I am caught between feeling a shred of relief at sharing the burden and feeling absolute panic at having said so much.”

“You ain’t never told anyone any of that before?” Joker inquired quietly, finishing his soldering and unplugging the tool.  He dug through the kit, searching for a size three condubit.  Unable to locate it, he decided to make due with the next size down, a size four.

“You are the first,” Hanzo told him.  “I’ve not spoken so sincerely to anyone about anything in many years, save for one other conversation.  It was not quite like this one, however.  In the former, I couldn’t find much to say.  Here, I could not shut myself up.”

“Well, I ain’t surprised.  There ain’t a doubt in my mind about how much better ya’ might feel after sharing all that.  But if you’re that worried, I’ll try to put it out of-” Joker stopped.  “Wait a minute.”

Hanzo’s heart seized up.  Had Joker identified who he was through the story he had shared?  There was no way it had been enough for someone to determine his past.  He had kept things vague for a reason.  The panic that had been flitting around at the edges of his conscious fully began to settle in and he held his breath as he waited to hear what Joker had to say.

“So,” Joker said, “what you’re telling me is that you ain’t never had a heart-to-heart talk with someone before, yeah?”

“Not exactly, no.” Hanzo glanced at Joker, finding himself frightened about where he was going with this.

“So you ain’t ever had a heart-to-heart,” Joker said again, “and, yet, you were borderline threatening me to get me talking about what was on m’mind with you  Just because-?”

“Threatening is such a _harsh_ word.” Hanzo countered.  “I was _encouraging-”_

“Just because-” Joker continued, “you had _heard_ that was what made people feel better, but you didn’t actually know?”

“Yes.”

“You son of a bitch.  Livin’ as if you know what’s right even when you got no clue.” Joker said with a grin. “That’s one of the reasons I lov-”

A spark lit up the arm.  His face twisted into a sharp grimace as the surge of electricity sent him flying back against the chair.  His head connected with something stiff behind the headrest while he groped for his elbow.

“Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus H. Christ.  Sugar honey iced tea on a shittin’ stick from Bombay Pompeii Cali-forn-i-a.” he breathed the words through gritted teeth, his hand slowly massaging its way up to his shoulder.  “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat, Jiminy Cricket, sweet cherries jubilation an’ jubilee in a cocksuckin’ fuckin’ punch bowl mother fuckin’ Mother Teresa tarnation damnation in all of creation.”

Okami was quiet for only a moment.  “I didn’t understand a word of that.  I hope you were not expecting me to.”

“Shit, shit, ow, goddamn, oh my Lord that hurt, ow, ow, shit.” Jesse helpfully translated.  His eyes shut tight as he took a sharp intake of breath, his hand rubbing at the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

“Ah.” was all that Okami said.

His fingers worked at loosening up the muscles in his shoulder.  His connection port for his arm was wired to his neck or upper spine.  He wasn’t sure which.  All he knew was that whenever an electric surge went through the system, it ripped up through his elbow and caused a spasm in every muscle from there up to his neck.  

It was the worst pain he had ever felt in months.  His eyes were watering and he couldn’t do anything but grit his teeth and wait it out, lying tensely back against his seat and waiting for the tingling sensation from hell to leave him be.

It felt like he had been waiting for hours, but it probably wasn’t more than a few minutes.  The muscles in his arm hurt like a bitch, and past experience told him that it was going to be a few days before it began to feel any better.  The tingling subsided mostly with only a ghost of the sensation left.  Still hurt, though.  It all did.

He was able to think now, though, which was nice.  The pain had died down enough that he was able to organize his thoughts and be aware of his surroundings like a sensible human being.

The car was still moving.  Okami hadn’t stopped driving.  

Jesse was still pressed back against his seat.  His breathing was a bit heavy at the moment.

Everything hurt, which meant he was alive.  He was fine.  

He would be fine.  Soon.  

Eventually.  

Eventually, he’d be okay.

Eventually, one day, maybe, everything would be okay.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” he murmured, his voice rough and low.  He glanced over at Okami, wincing at even that slight movement.  The rest of his apology died on his tongue as he looked over at Okami.  While the man's left arm was on the steering wheel, and all his focus on the road, Okami was reaching somewhere behind him with his right arm.

Jesse turned his whole torso, not willing to hurt his neck any further, to look what Okami was reaching for.  The man had reached over to grasp at Jesse’s chair, his forearm resting behind Jesse’s headrest.

“Are you holding my chair up?” Jesse asked curiously,

“No,” Okami said.  

Jesse tried asking another way.  “Were you _ready_ to hold it up?”

“Perhaps,” Okami said slowly. “I did not trust it.  I did not want to see you hurt any worse.”

Jesse’s tense face melted into a tired smile.  “Thanks, O.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.  I did nothing.” Okami told him.

McCree cracked a lopsided grin as he turned back to look at the muscled arm pushing against his chair.  “Then why you still doin’ it?”

“No- No, I’m-” Okami glanced over as he slowly pulled his arm away from the chair, looking between it and the quiet road in front of them.  As he stopped pushing against the chair, it fell half a centimeter back to its locked position.  At the sight of any motion from the seat, Okami slammed his arm back against the chair, ready to hold it up once again.  He looked between the seat and McCree, sighing in defeat.  “Just sit up… Wait, do not.  You're injured... Can you even?  Or are you still in pain?”

“Nah, I can- Just give me a-” McCree groaned slightly as he sat up, no longer leaning fully on the seat.  Satisfied that McCree wouldn’t fall back if the chair gave out, Okami moved his arm and found that the chair wasn’t going to fall after all and that all his fretting had been for nothing.

Okami, unwilling to let McCree gloat upon the fact that Okami had been caught being nicer than his cool-guy demeanor would have liked, spoke. “Did you manage to fix your arm?”  The side-glance he gave McCree told Jesse that he was actually interested in hearing his answer and not just trying to change the topic away from him being an absolute sweetheart.

“Not as much as I would have liked,” McCree admitted.  “Tried to make do with a size four condubit when I needed a three.  Two’s too big an’ four’s too small.  It slipped its teensy ass self in an’ hit a connection port an’ sent me hurtlin’ down electric avenue.  Didn’t get the job done before I fried myself.”

“You don’t have a three in that mess?” Okami asked.  He didn’t even need to look over for McCree to know he was referring to the jumbled pile of tools in his lap.

“No.” McCree sighed.  “Guess I lost it somewhere.”

“How could you have?  You’re so organized.” Okami said, his delivery so smooth that it took McCree a second for him to realize that he was being teased.

“Oh, ha ha,” McCree replied sarcastically.  “This’d be more funny if I didn’t have to deal with a bum arm til’ I find a new tool.”

Okami’s mask was drawn tight enough across his face that McCree could tell that he was gnawing at his lip.  Before McCree could ask what was on his mind, Okami spoke up.  “Size three, you said?”

“Yessir, that I did.”

“I think I have that in my bag,” Okami said, glancing between the back of the truck where their things were and the man sitting to his side.

Brow furrowing, McCree looked over at Okami.  “Why would you carry a repair kit around?”

Giving a one-shouldered shrug, Okami made a soft sound of iunno.  “I carry many things around in my bag, things that can help in many a situation.  Ones like this.” Okami replied. “Considering that this is one of those situations, I suggest you find it in yourself to be grateful for foresight and make use of it.  Not wasting time questioning thought-out preparedness.”

“I hear ya’, pumpkin,” McCree said good-naturedly. “I know when to shut up an’ do, not say an’ think.”

“That’s not what I was-” Okami huffed, taking another glance towards the back seat. “Can you reach back there?  Or should I?...”

McCree frowned at his arm.  “Might go ahead and throw myself back there instead.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted his weight in the seat.

“Would that be easier?” Okami sounded confused.

“Easier than movin’ m’arm, yeah,” McCree said as he clambered over the middle console.  He threw his right arm out and just stopped himself from falling flat into the backseat.

“I can stop the car and get it for you.” Okami offered belatedly, turning around just enough to get an eyeful of a tightly-clothed ass.   Deciding talking to the ass of that ass was a waste of his time, he turned back towards the front and quietly gave up.

McCree awkwardly waved behind himself towards the front of the car. “No, I got it.  No sense in pullin’ over on a highway if we don't gotta.” McCree said, placing his bags on the floor so he could have a seat in the back.

McCree had barely reached for Okami’s guitar case before the man scolded him from the front.  “Put on a seatbelt, Joker.”

“I’m coming right back up, O.”

“Strap it.”

“Why?  You want me buckled up in case you run into a cactus or somethin’?” McCree asked. “‘Cause in case you haven’t noticed, there ain’t been no one else on the road for the last three hours.”

“We were stopped for an hour, Joker”

“Fine,” Jesse said. “There ain't been no one else on the road for the last _two_ hours”

Okami wasn't having it. “Seatbelt.”

McCree looked up towards the front, exasperated as hell.  “O...”

“Joker...” Okami uttered just one word, but the tone of the drawn-out word made clear it was to be taken as a warning.

“Okami,” McCree growled in frustration, annoyed that the man wouldn’t even spare him a glance.  This was ridiculous, and it was both of their faults, but that didn’t mean that McCree was going to be the one to lose.  

It might be a stupid win, but it was his stupid win.  With the day he had been having he needed a stupid win.

He glared at Okami’s reflection in the rearview mirror, his defiance apparent.  He’d been told many a time in the past that the scowls he wore were borderline legendary, scaring many a rookie recruit back in his beginning Blackwatch days.  Angela had once told him that he looked like an entirely different person when there wasn’t a smile on his face.

But as terrifying as his glares could be, he knew that there was no person alive on Earth who could match the scathingly hot fury of a stare that Okami was sending back his way, turning the rearview mirror into a pseudo portal to what probably had to be hell.

“Joker.” Okami’s tone was final, a heavy indication that any talking back would not be tolerated. McCree hoped that was the only thing that was final in the car.  Blowing out an obnoxious breath of annoyance, McCree tugged at the seat belt with his right arm, holding it with his teeth while he buckled in.

“Thank you,” Okami said, his eyes lingering on McCree’s form for only a moment before he looked back at the road.  “There’s a false bottom under the foam.  Take out the foam near where the bottom of the body of the guitar would lay.  Then peel away at the felt under that.  You’ll find the small tool kit under there.”

McCree did as he said, moving slowly so that he had time to look over everything in the case.  If Okami started gloating about how he was able to make McCree sit down and shut up, he wanted ammo to fire back with.  

Unfortunately, he did not find any heart-patterned boxers to tease him about.  He also did not have a plan B of what to look for.  Not when the well-packed case had nothing interesting laying out in plain sight, nothing that he hadn’t already seen anyway.  Knowing Okami, all the good stuff was probably packed under another false bottom or two well out of sight.

McCree pulled the small case out, flicking it open to make sure that it had the tools that he was looking for inside.  It looked almost like his kit did, having most of the basic tools necessary for repairs.  Okami did have blue handles instead of the maroon ones McCree was accustomed to, but the tools themselves were the same.  The other difference was that they looked borderline unused, with the sheen of newness still intact while his were well-worn through years of use.  

Once he finished looking the kit over, McCree pieced the guitar case back together, flattening the felt and then placing the foam back inside before he shut it. “Am I allowed back up front?” he asked sarcastically.

“Hand me the kit,” Okami said, reaching back without looking.  “It'll be easier for you to maneuver without carrying it.”

McCree obliged huffily.  “Now then?”

Okami responded by silently propping up the middle console, blocking McCree’s path to the front.  There was a soft click as he locked it into position.

“O, come on.  I ain't no backseat bitch.’ McCree groaned. “Why can't I come up front?

“Legally, I can't let you,” Okami said, that mischievous look lighting up his eyes as he looked back through the rearview mirror.  When he saw the questioning look on McCree’s face, he elaborated.  “Children aren't allowed to ride in the front.”

McCree's face fell in damn near disbelief as he looked up into the front.  “I bet you’re real proud of that one, aren’t you?” McCree couldn’t help the smile that was threatening to slide onto his face.  It was a fair jab for Okami to take after their stupid spat.  A friendly poke to lighten the mood and tease Jesse in the same breath.  McCree deserved the ribbing and he knew it.

“Mmm.” Okami declined to comment, but it was clear that he was rather pleased with his retort, and also possibly pleased with how well it had been taken.

“Your point’s been made, an’ I’d like to apologize for my behavior,” McCree said sincerely.

Okami didn’t miss a beat, replying as soon as McCree finished speaking.  “Apology accepted.”

That was too easy.  There had to be a catch. “Just like that?” McCree asked.

“Of course.” Okami said, eyes flicking up to look at McCree through the rearview mirror.  “I don’t blame you for lashing out.  You’re in pain, both emotionally and physically, as well as being exhausted.  If I was in your place, I would do the same.” His eyes moved back down to the road.  “I just didn’t appreciate being the target.  I’m sure you understand that, considering how much you’ve put up with my tantrums, yes?”

McCree chuckled.  “Tantrums’s is a good word for what you an’ me been doin’.”  He shook his head and gave an amused huff of a sigh.  “So you still banishin’ me to the back?”

“For a bit, if you can stand it,” Okami said, popping the middle console back down flat.  “I was hoping to make a stop soon at a rest stop.”

“Gotta take a leak?”

“Do I what?” Okami asked, seemingly unsure if he needed to be offended by what McCree was implying.

McCree tried again.  “Need to take a whiz?”

“What I really want is to change into something more comfortable. This armor is protective but also very stiff.” Okami explained, clearly still confused by what McCree was asking.  “I just feel disgusting and dirty right now and I despise it.  I need to take _all_ of this-” he gestured up and down his whole torso, “-off.”

McCree’s eyes followed his hand as it motioned from his masked face down to his pants. “Well, sugarplum, don’t let me stop you," he said with a grin. "Besides, I can understand that.  We’ve been wearing the same clothes this whole job.  I might think about changing too.” McCree admitted, sitting back in the seat.  “So how long am I stuck back here for then?”

“Until the next rest stop,” Okami answered.  “I missed the previous one.  The next one’s in thirty miles or so.”

“Thirty miles?!” McCree asked incredulously.  “What are you doin’?  Sixty on this road?”

“Is it sixty?  I wasn’t sure. I’ve been doing forty-five.” Okami said, pressing down on the gas pedal and speeding up to sixty.

“My grandma wouldn’t even have done forty-five here.  You’re drivin’ the speed of molasses AND you want me to just sit back here for another thirty minutes while you get total and complete control over the radio?”  McCree folded his arms and continued with his teasing.  “That’s what this is about, innit?  The radio and the air condition?”

“Yes, absolutely.  I love having control over the different flavors of static playing.  However did you guess?” Okami replied.  “It has nothing to do with the fact I don’t want you falling face down onto the floor, because judging by you luck that’s what would happen, and it’s all because of the radio.  You caught me.”

“I knew it,” McCree said with a grin.  “I don’t know, you sure you don’t want me trying to make the climb?”

“Absolutel-”

“Because you might get lucky with me fallin’ into your lap instead.” McCree leaned as far forward as the seatbelt would allow him to, reaching just far enough to properly waggle his eyebrows in Okami’s point of view.

Okami gave him a quick look, quirking his brow in poorly concealed amusement, and responded by popping the console lid back up.  McCree started back and brought his right hand to his chest, ready to lay the mock offense on thick.  Before he could start, Okami let the console lid fall back into place, his opinion on the offer having been made  “Behave yourself, Joker.”

“For thirty whole minutes?” McCree asked.  “You’re asking a bit much.”

“I'm aware.” Okami hummed in thought, seemingly rolling an idea around in his head.  McCree sat quietly and waited for him to say what was on his mind.  There must have been a hell of a debate on his brain, because he was murmuring under his breath in Japanese, speaking too low for McCree to hear properly, and glancing to both his left and his right like he was a judge and jury deciding if he would rather believe the defendant or the plaintiff.  

Slowly, Okami seemed to come back and remember that McCree was sitting patiently in the back.  “I _could_ drive faster than the speed limit, at least until we reach the rest stop,” he asked.  “Would you mind that?”

“Nah, O, wouldn't mind a bit,” McCree told him as he leaned back.  “Ain’t no real speed limit on quiet-ass roads like these anyway.”

“Alright.  Is your seatbelt still on?”

“Wouldn't dare take it off with a momma hen like you ready to peck my eyes out.”

“Delightful imagery,” Okami commented.  “Lean back against the seat, please.”

McCree raised a brow but said nothing.  If there was anything he was learning, it was that Okami was far more careful off the field than he was in it.  In a fight, he threw caution to the wind.  Here, he was acting more like a soccer mom than a cutthroat assassin.

“Ready?” Okami asked from the front.

“Ready as a termite in a clog factory.”

“...Ready?” he asked again.

“Ready as a church bell on a wedding day.”

Okami sighed and glanced back at McCree.  “I have no idea what you're saying, but I feel as if you’re trying to speak to me.”

“I'm ready, O-” McCree didn't get to utter another word before the truck’s engine roared to life.

The cacti turned to blurs and the world around them disintegrated into colorful streaks as Okami cranked up the speed and had them racing down the highway.  Leaning over to take a gander at the speedometer, McCree could see that Okami was pushing them near triple-digit speed and showed no sign of slowing them down.

Okami’s arms were tense, his hands tight on the wheel, and all his focus on the road.  A turn came up, but Okami barely slowed down.  Instead, of trying to navigate a turn, he opted to head right and go off-roading instead.  He climbed sped along on the dry ground, drifting back and forth for nothing but show.  McCree couldn’t help but let out a whoop as the truck bumped along the uneven ground and bucked him around like a fierce bronco.  He hadn’t been expecting to be taken on a ride, but with the fun he was having, Okami was more than welcome to drive this Mrs. Daisy any time.

The dust kicked up behind them, the swirling through the sweltering air.  Okami took a hard bank left, making a sharp turn back onto the road, tires squealing as they became reacquainted with the concrete.  Now back on the road, it stayed straight as far as the eye could see.  Okami kicked the engine back up and took advantage of the straightaway to fly down the road.

Far sooner than McCree would have liked, the sign signaled that there was a rest stop just up ahead on the right.  Okami kept his high-mileage cruising going, keeping his eyes peeled for the building.  When the empty parking lot came into view, Okami drove up the side road to the parking lot and jerked the wheel.  Tires squealed as the car spun into a parking space.  Skid marks decorated the asphalt, marking the small lot beyond the faded white stripes of the parking spaces that had been bleached by the sun.

McCree just sat in a happy daze, unable to shake the grin that lit up his face.  He watched as Okami turned the truck off, casually stretched, and then turned back to look at him.

“Was that enjoyable?” he asked, the smirky look in his eyes telling that he already knew the answer.

“O, sugar, honey, sweetheart, that was fuckin’ amazing.” McCree stumbled over his words in his enthusiasm. “I had no idea that you could drive like that.  And then you went off-roadin’ too, right in the middle of that, and Lord, that was so fast.” McCree paused for a breath.  “What were we goin’?  A hundred?”

“One twenty at the fastest.  Ninety-seven average, once I got the speed up.” Okami answered.  

“I’ll be honest, when you took off driving, you scared me for a minute,” McCree said with an awkward laugh

“Oh?” Okami replied curiously.  “I thought you said you were ready.”

“Well, I was ready for you to courageously drive five over the speed limit.” McCree told him.  “I thought when you took off like that you was gonna drive us off the nearest cliff or something.” McCree leaned forward to talk directly to Okami. “In solidarity, of course.”

“I hadn’t been planning on that, no.” Okami told him.  “Would you have liked me too?”

“Only if you were gonna let me show my solidarity from outside the car.” McCree replied honestly.

“How touchingly sweet of you,” Okami deadpanned.  “Alas, I don’t think we’ve reached that stage yet.  Perhaps later we’ll dive off of a cliff in solidarity together.  Today, however, is not that day.”

“Aw, for real?  Not that I wanna dive off a cliff or nothing, but,” McCree paused, hand on his chest, “you an’ me had a whole heart to heart together an’ everything.  Doesn't make us kinda close?”

Okami sat still in his chair for a moment.  “Ah, that's right.”  He then calmly exited the car, carefully closing the door behind him, and opened the passenger door across from McCree.

McCree watched as Okami yanked his guitar case over, flicking it open and digging inside for something.  He tucked a bundle of clothes under his arm and continued rifling through his things.  

While Okami dug through his case, McCree took a moment to swing open his door and mosey back around to the front passenger side.  Jesse had barely settled in before a water bottle and a granola bar were held up in front of his face.

“Take these.” Okami told him.  

“So we're back to mama hen mode already?”

Okami thrust the items closer.  “Crying makes you dehydrated and I haven't seen you eat all day.”

“O, that's nice an’ all-”

“Take.  Them.” Okami said impatiently as he shook his full hand, attempting to entice McCree to grab the items

“Well, I suppose I am a bit parched.” McCree conceded, allowing Okami to shove the items into his hand.  “Thanks, O.”

“Drink it before you start working on your arm.” Okami told him.  “Eat-” he turned back to start digging through his bag again. Another bar, this one a soft bar filled with strawberry jam, was thrust towards McCree.  “Have this too. Take your time.  I'm going to be in there for awhile.”

McCree took the offered bar, briefly marvelling at how it still was completely intact despite being packed in a makeshift suitcase, before registering what Okami said.  “You alright, O?”

“Me?  Yes, of course, just need to… Ah, be, for a minute or two or ten or twenty.”

Something in his tone grabbed McCree’s attention.  “Is something wrong or…?”

“No, not-...” Okami grabbed his case from the back, seemingly having changed his mind about leaving it. He slammed the passenger side door shut, and hesitated a moment. “I just… You have reminded me of something.”

“What exactly would that be?”

“I had forgotten that I was having a small… - What's the American phrase - freaking out?  Is that it?” Okami only debated the phrase for a second more before he started heading for the men's room in the rest stop.  “I need a minute to go have a freaking out.”

Staring at his retreating form, McCree blinked twice in confused concern.  Did men like Okami have even those?  Did they know how? “Do, uh...Do you need any help?” McCree called after him.

“No, no, do not worry.” Okami called back, casually waving him off.  “I am quite practiced about manufacturing freaking outs on my own. You don't need to help me have one.” Before the door shut behind him, McCree heard a stiff “but thank you anyway” sent back his way.

“That wasn’t what I-” McCree tried to respond, but the door shut behind Okami before he could say another word.  Chewing on his lip in thought, debating on what he should do, he decided to stay put.  If Okami had actually wanted help, he would have asked directly.  He was a blunt kind of fella, he never tiptoed around what he wanted as far as McCree could tell.

McCree would give him half an hour.  If the man hadn’t shown his face… or rather the upper half of his face in thirty minutes, then McCree was going to knock on the door and check on him.  In half an hour, and not a second before.

McCree opened up the granola bar, finding it had mini chocolate chips sprinkled throughout, and popped open the water bottle, tearing his teeth into the sticky sweet bar and washing it down with a large gulp of water.  He was starving and parched.  As soon as he took care of his body’s needs, he was going to set to repairing his arm, and then he and Okami were going to hit the road and make it to Vegas and then…

He didn’t want to think about it. 

He didn’t need to.  They weren’t to that part yet.

He’d just focus on the tasks he had at hand, and the tasks that were his hand.  It was all he could do.  He had to do something to stop worrying about Okami, even if the man had assured him that he was going to be fine.  There was no reason for him to worry anyway.

Okami was a grown ass man who was more than capable of taking care of himself. The man had even stated that he was no stranger to freaks outs, so he’d know how to handle them.  McCree had no reason to worry.

Okami would know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, and general feedback are super duper appreciated! <3
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	5. Roadtrip Blues pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm really hoping that y'all like the dragons better'n you like the goat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings/notes:  
> *Light description of a panic attack at the start here.  
> *Goat  
> *My apologies to the town of Searchlight, Arizona.
> 
> Happy reading! <3

****

Hanzo had no idea what to do.

He threw his guitar case down on the concrete floor, piled the clothes in his hands on top of that, and froze in place.  Taking a deep breath, he crouched down, covering his face with his hands, trying to block out how the subway- tiled walls seemed to be closing in on him.  His breathing sped up as his hands slid down from his face to his chest, his arms wrapping around himself in a pseudo hug, knowing that the illusion of this comforting touch was nothing but a sham.

His armor felt too stiff, too smothering and far too tight.  His skintight shirt rubbed against his skin, the material starting to drive him mad amidst the wild fluctuation of his senses.  His sweat had soaked in and cooled off and it felt abysmally disgusting to wear.  The dampness of his clothes was uncomfortable and infuriating now that he had no choice but to acknowledge it.  He needed to get it off.  Everything.  It all had to come off.  Now.

The handguards were flung to the floor with a clatter, and he popped off the armored sleeve covering his tattoo. He groped for the mechanism integrated into his armor at the back of the neck that would release his torso from this metal prison.  There was a button somewhere, down there… Ah, there it was.  A button that, once held down long enough, would release the pressure suctioning in the individual plates on his chest piece, the pressure that allowed for that tight fit that would mold perfectly to his body, and allow him to finally pull this thing off.

The pieces loosened with a dull clunk and he pawed at the chest piece before he remembered that he couldn’t shed it properly yet, not with the upper protections still strongly affixed to his neck and face.  He was still trapped.  

At least, if nothing else, he could breathe again.  That was a good start.  Wasn't enough yet, though, not yet.  He needed all of this off.  Now.  

Normally he didn't mind it, normally he didn't care but, amidst his burst of anxiety, the suit was absolutely _suffocating._

He tore the piece off of his chin, prying the guards from the side of his face next.  With those removed, flung back behind him somewhere, he didn’t care where, he could now duck his head and arms into the armor, working the piece off over his head.

The armor was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, leaving Hanzo’s torso clad in nothing but a black sleeveless shirt, his mouth still covered by the mask attached to the neckline.  Hanzo immediately ripped the damp shirt off, also throwing it back onto his pile of things, taking in a large, much-needed gulp of air once his mouth was free.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to massage the icky, crawling residual feeling off of his body.  For another minute more, he stayed crouched on the floor, running his hands up and down his arms, eyes shut tight as he just breathed.  

No thinking.  No feeling.  Just breathe.

Once he steadied his racing heart, though it was still beating too quickly for his liking, he slowly worked on taking off his belt and pants.  The belt slid off easily once he managed to focus enough to untie the knot.  Without that latched to his middle, he could start to properly calm down. The pants were loose enough that there was no rush to take them off.  Instead, his new priority was to remove his leg guards, which he unknotted with some work, and then the socks underneath those.

Now, now that he had removed all the tight, restricting clothing, he could try to finally relax.  Emphasis on try.

“ _You have made a mistake, Hanzo.”_ a soft voice said, its perfect Japanese making Hanzo momentarily wistful for his mother tongue.

“I know,” he replied, speaking Japanese in return.  As he sat crouching in a dingy, old rest stop out in the middle of God knows where, he felt a burning shame creep under his bare skin, a feeling that he was all too familiar with.

“ _He's a stranger.”_ the voice said.

“I know.” was all that Hanzo could reply.

“ _You should not have told him so much_.”

He swallowed, finding it difficult with his dry mouth.  “I know.”

He had made a massive mistake by opening his mouth and sharing _any_ information about himself.  He had ripped a hole in his suit of armor and left himself defenseless.  He had been trained better than this.  He should have known better than to wear his heart on his sleeve, leaving it an easy target for people to rip off and destroy.

Feeling his gut sink low in shame, he realized what he had done.  Arms crossed over his middle, his body began to fold in on itself.  His form morphed into a kneeling position that he had been forced to stoop into thousand times before.  He had failed.  The punishment was coming for his inadequacies.  It always was.  Always.  

He had no idea how he would be punished.  He didn’t know what it would be.  There was no way to be ready for it.  A burning hot brand on his shoulder he could be ready for, the sizzle of an iron a warning of the pain to come.  Training for hours on end, going until he passed out cold, he could be ready for.  Being locked up in a small room for his lack of cooperation and rebellion, struggling to find any semblance of balance for himself... No.  

No no no.  He couldn’t.  He had no way to be ready.  He had no way to know.  He couldn’t brace for a punishment if he didn’t know _what_ it would be.  He hated this part, the not knowing what came next.  Despised it with his heart and soul.

Had he just damned himself with careless chatter?  He trusted Joker, he did, but Hanzo’s life was already difficult enough without having a handicap walking around, knowing things about him, no matter how unspecific they may be.  

Joker now possessed an inkling of knowledge about him, not much but it could be enough for him to know who Hanzo was.  If he knew that much, then he must know how much the clan was willing to pay to find him.  Money could make even the tone-deaf sing for the chance of having a gold coin tossed into their mouths.  The price on his head was high enough to garner interest from even the most stoic of men, even possibly Joker.

Would _that_ be his punishment? Betrayal from the one man he considered a friend?

How fitting.  It would be what a murderer like him deserved.

“ _I do not think the same, Hidari.”_ A new voice entered the conversation. “ _You should have told him_ **_more,_ ** _Hanzo._ ”

“What?” He sat upright at the suggestion, glancing around in confusion, his mind momentarily pausing in its building panic.  “No.  Why?”

 _“Yes, Migi,_ ” The first voice added.   _“Why?”_

Migi, one of his dragons, slowly materialized in front of him, taking her time to gracefully solidify her form as he floated in front of his eyes, drawing Hanzo’s attention her way.  She kept her form small, wanting only to communicate face to face.   There was no point in wasting any of her reserve energy to make her form any bigger if she didn’t need to intimidate to make herself heard.  “ _I think it was good for you to find someone to talk to_.” she stretched, rolling her head back as she grew reacquainted with her physical form.  

Hidari flew towards Migi, her sudden appearance too rushed to match the same grace that Migi had displayed.  “ _He has us to talk to_.” she snorted in exasperation. _"We can help him more than any strange man he’ll never see again can_.”

“ _There are limits to the help we can give Hanzo."_  Migi reminded her, shaking her head sadly.  “ _He needs much more help than you or I could ever provide_.”

“ _True, true, true._ ” Hidari conceded with a tut.  “ _If our Hanzo were a building, he would be condemned in an instant for his foundation is shattered.  The two of us can’t rebuild it alone._ ”

“ _And we can’t be expected to_ ,” Migi added.

“ _And Hanzo can only repair so many cracks himself_.” Hidari mused.

Migi nodded.  “ _Having help_ **_would_ ** _help_.”

“ _But an American?_ ” Hidari said hesitantly.  “ _I am not sure he is the best choice_.”

“ _It is not **our** choice. _ ” Migi reminded her.  “ _It is Hanzo’s.  And if the American is the one that Hanzo seeks out to help, then that is that._ ”

Hidari cocked her head in thought.  “ _He does seem rather infatuated with the man._ ”

“ _Smitten._ ” Migi agreed.

“ _Desiring._ ”

“ _Lust-”_

“Beg pardon, but he’s just a friend.” Hanzo had been silently glaring at them, growing tired of waiting for them to finish their commentary about him.  “Have you forgotten that I am right here?” he asked. “You’ve manifested.  I can hear what you’re saying now all the time now that you’ve physically formed.”

“ ** _Good_** ,” Migi said.  “ _You need to hear it._ ”

" _He still needs to stay on guard, though._ ” Hidari said, ignoring Hanzo.  “ _He can’t go baring his soul to any stranger he so happens to run into._ ”

" _And he doesn’t, Hidari._ ” Migi reassured her. “ _Let the boy get some things off his chest every once in awhile._ ”

Hidari glared at the adornments gracing Hanzo’s pectorals before she redirected her gaze back to Migi.  “ _I'd rather he get **other** things off his chest. _ ”

“The piercings stay,” Hanzo told her, moving his arms to better cover himself from her judgmental eyes.

Migi was quick to reassure him, “ _I like them.  Very fitting for a dragon.  It's good that you decided to get something for yourself  for once_.”

“ _Migi, focus, we know what is right for him.  We raised him, being a part of his life since he was young._ ” Hidari said, annoyed at being so clearly reprimanded and shown-up.  “ _I don’t think he should dismiss all sense of caution because he’s run into the same man a clawful of times and has grown infatuated_.”

“ ** _Purposefully_ ** _run into the same man,_ ” Migi told her, side-eying Hanzo. “ _We know that you’ve been scouting jobs in this part of the world because you missed him._ ”  Hanzo opened his mouth to argue, but Hidari cut him off. “ _Do not lie to us, Hanzo.  It would be a waste of breath.  We know._ ”

“You know _nothing_ ,” Hanzo told them, watching as they both turned to look at him.  “Don’t pretend to understand human emotions.  You are not of this _world_ , you are not of the same _species_ , do not act as if you are, do _not_ act as if you _understand_.”

The two dragons stayed silent, eyeing Hanzo.  He met their stare easily.  The three of them had had standoffs many times before.  This time was no different.

“ _He takes after you, Migi_.” Hidari idly commented.

“ _With that stubbornness?  And that arrogance?_ ” Migi replied. “ _No, no.  That is all you._ ”  

“ _The stubbornness I will claim.  The arrogance is yours_.”

“ _The confidence you mean?  For I don’t know of what arrogance of mine you speak._ ”

Hanzo’s face grew stony with exasperation.  This is how it always went.  The two of them saying whatever they wished to say and then pretending to not hear him.  There were times those two acted as if his life was a democracy, and they had two of the three votes for the decision-making.  This was one of those times.

All he wanted, needed, craved was for a moment of quiet.  There was a good chance that he wasn’t going to ever get it if the two dragons vetoed his request.  He had to try though.  He had come in here to try to calm himself down.  That wasn’t going to happen if they all kept arguing.  He needed to end this peacefully so he could find some peace.

“I know I have lacked willpower and said too much to him.  This I acknowledge,” he said, his head bowed as he spoke, “but you have no right to assume my feelings about the matter.  I do not enjoy you two telling me what my thoughts should be, as many have times before, especially when I do not even _know_ what my feelings are about the matter.  Could you two please, please, _please,_ allow me a moment to just think?  I cannot think and-” he stiffened, pausing as he tried to rein his plea back in. “Five minutes?  Ten?  Can you be quiet for that short while?  Please?  I beg of you.”

The two dragons looked at each other again and gave each other a micro-nod at the same time.  “ _Of course, young master._ ” Hidari said.

“ _All you had to do was ask,_ ” Migi added.  He knew that was a lie.

“ _We meant no harm._ ” That one was true.  Mostly.

“ _We were only trying to help._ ” As was that one.  Even if their help was less than helpful, it was indeed true.

Hidari continued. “ _But if quiet is what you require_.”

“ _Then quiet is what you shall get_.” Migi finished.

The two dragons floated closer to him, settling onto the dusty ground as he sat flat back against the wall, hands covering his face.  The tiles were cold on his back, and the fluorescent lights flooded the room in a sea of eyestrain.  There was warmth against his hips as his dragons settled down and curled up next to him.  He felt Migi nuzzle against his right side, and Hidari press her head against his left.

He just focused on breathing, in and out, while he evaluated how badly he had fucked himself.  

It wasn’t the end of the world now that he had dared tell someone a bit about himself.  Hidari was correct in a way, there hadn’t been any reason for him to reveal any piece of himself.  Migi was right too, though.  He had felt better once he shared that information about himself, at least until it registered in his brain that he had shared brainlessly information about himself.

They were all right in a way.  And to be fair, it was Joker he had been talking to.  The man hadn’t sold Hanzo out for his own life.  He could probably trust him with the scant information that he now knew.  

If it hadn’t been Joker in that car, nothing would have ever been said.  It wasn’t that Hanzo was losing his touch and willing to blurt out confidential information nonstop.  It was just that with Joker, Hanzo hadn’t felt like the information needed to _be_ confidential.

It was a fault of character that had put Hanzo in this situation.  Not his character.  Joker’s.  The man was too wonderful.  That had to be a fault somehow.

The clan wasn’t going to pick up on where he was and resume a manhunt, he reminded himself.  The clan wasn’t going to find him.  Talon probably wasn’t either.  He was still safe.  He wasn’t in danger.  He would be fine.

And even if Joker did somehow figure out who he was and did somehow betray him to the two groups in pursuit, Hanzo would be leaving Las Vegas and Joker behind shortly.  If he wanted to, he could vanish completely with ease and never have to see the man again.

The thing was that he still wanted to see him.  He just had to analyze the situation and determine if his desire to “bumble” into Joker once again would be putting him in any danger.  That was it.  It didn’t seem like it would be a problem, not with Joker, but if running through the possibilities would help him relax then he wasn’t going to skip over them.  

There was no guarantee he would be in danger because Joker sold him out.  There was no guarantee that Joker would sell him out.  Hanzo’s anxiety was kicking his worries out of control, and he had just managed to rein most of them back in.

He could trust him.  Joker was a good man.  Hanzo had trusted him before.  He could trust him again.

“ _Are you figuring anything out?_ ” Migi asked quietly.  She must have waited exactly the ten minutes to speak.

“I think so,” he replied honestly.

“ _Are you figuring the_ **_right_ ** _things out?_ ” Hidari asked.

“I hope so,” he responded, sincerely hoping he had.

Migi butted against his thigh, wanting his attention. “ _Do we trust him?_ ” she asked.

“I trust him,” Hanzo confirmed.  “Whether or not you two do is up to you.”

Migi jumped up excitedly on to his leg. “ _I do!_ ”

“ _I suppose I have to._ ” Hidari said with her usual reserve, still laying by Hanzo’s side.  “ _To be fair, he has been a gentleman every time you two have met.  If it’s an act, then he’s quite dedicated to the facade._ ”

“It’s not an act,” Hanzo told her.  “If it had been, it would have cracked under pressure.  There was a gun in his face and he never wavered.  I trust him.”

His word was final and the dragons seemed to appreciate the effort he had put into weighing the pros and cons.  The three of them just sat in the room, the tiles chilling his back slightly less as his body warmed them, and his two dragons never leaving his side.  

That was odd for them.  Usually, once they manifested, if in a situation that allowed, they explored rooms, feeding their endless curiosity about their ever-changing surroundings.  Then again they usually didn’t summon themselves, preferring to let him waste the energy to do so.  Everything about this whole situation felt off.  Perhaps, though, that was just him.

He looked down at the two dragons laying next to him.  “Did you two miss walking around?  I’m surprised you both formed.  That’s… different for you two.”

“ _Too much pent-up energy_.” Migi explained.

He nodded in reply.  That made sense.  He could believe that.  “I wish I had that problem,” he replied.  “I’m just tired all of the time.”

“ _You are supporting three spirits in one body; we all draw from the same energy pool.  That must be exhausting_.” Hidari commented.  “ _Exhausting and commendable._ ”

“ _When was the last time that a Shimada had two dragons?_ ” Migi asked.  “ _The ceremony usually only grants one, yes?_ ”

“Yuudai Shimada possessed his two fractured dragons back in the year 1902.  That was the last time.” Hanzo answered.  He had asked this question many times himself while growing up before finally finding out the grim answer. “He lived peacefully to the age of thirty-one before his dragons finally drove him insane.  The records about him stopped there.” 

Hanzo had no doubt the further records were destroyed from that point on because they didn’t adhere to the clan’s preferred image.  A potential heir being driven mad by the clan’s quest for power?  That wasn’t a fact the Shimada clan wished to share and so it needed to be erased.  

He couldn’t help but wonder: had he and Genji been written out of the clan’s records yet?

“ _Insanity!?_ ” Hidari spoke up.  “ _He was pushed over the edge of insanity by the clan at such a tender age?”_

“ _And they blame that on the dragons!?_ ” Migi added.  “ _How unfair!_ ”

“Yes, they did,” Hanzo answered.  “And with dragons like you two constantly badgering me, I can’t say I find myself surprised.”

Hidari looked up at him.  “ _How rude._ ” she snorted.

Migi huffed against his leg. “ _We’re only trying to help._ ”

Hidari looked up at him.  “ _We helped raise you._ ”

 _"Granted you our power,_ ” Migi added.

“ _Helped you to be a powerful young master._ ”

“ _Helped you sneak out when you wanted to before you were taught not to want._ ”

“ _Helped you with your studies and tests so you could meet their ruthless expectations._ ”

“ _Helped you pick birthday presents out for the mother you barely knew._ ”

“ _Helped you realize what the elders had turned you into._ ”

“ _Helped you run away._ ”

“ _And this is the thanks you give us?_ ” They finished in unison.

Hanzo crossed his arms and looked down at them, brow raised and a barely concealed smile on his lips.  At one point their arguments had bothered him, but now he knew that they were just desperate to feel needed, a trait they had no doubt gleaned from him through their bondment.  Perhaps they did understand human emotion more than he thought.  “You do not have to pull out the impassioned speeches to guilt-trip me every time I talk back, you two-inch terrors.”

“ _We raised you **better** than to talk back,_ ” Hidari grumbled.

“You did.  Migi didn’t,” he told her with a sly grin.

Hidari’s head bolted upright.  “ _I knew it!_ ” she looked across his lap towards her parallel.  “ _Look what you’ve done.  You raised a scamp is what you did._ ”

“ _Me?_ ” Migi asked innocently, moving to shove her snout towards Hidari and readying herself for a fight, her actions a stark contrast to her tone.

Hidari growled.  “ _Yes, you..._ ”

“ _I think it was a group effort_.” she hissed back.

“You’ve both done a wonderful job being there for me. Neither one of you is allowed to claim full credit.” Hanzo told them, gently pulling them apart.  “You’re two halves of a perfect whole, and I wouldn’t have the second chance that I do if it were not for you two always looking out for my well-being.”

The two dragons looked up at Hanzo as they slowly lowered themselves down next to him, both pleased with the sudden thanks.  The fastest way to appease a dragon was to shower them with praise, making them feel safe, wanted, and desired.  The fight between the girls had been headed off, thankfully.  Hanzo wasn't sure that he could stand to be caught in any of their full-blown fights at the moment.

With the two of them settled down, Hanzo shifted and snatched an undershirt from the pile of clothes he had dropped on the floor.  He started pulling it on over his head, tugging the elastic hem down as he got his arms through the holes.  He heard Migi say something right as he pulled his shirt on, but didn’t quite catch what she said.  “Say it once more, Migi.”

“ _Can we meet him?_ ” Migi asked again.

“Meet who?"

“ _The American,_ ” Hidari said.  “ _She wants to_ **_formally_ ** _meet the American, face to face.  As do I._ ”

“I make no promises of that,” Hanzo told them.  “What would he think if he saw you two?  If he grew frightened, the three of us could be in danger again.  We could lose him.”  He couldn’t lose him.

Migi’s snout fell.  “ _One day, maybe?_ ” she asked.

Hanzo’s face softened as he looked down at the sad dragons.  “One day,” he assured her.  There was no truth to his words.  He couldn’t promise that he’d ever let them and Joker meet.  He couldn’t even be sure he’d ever see Joker again.  

It was a false reassurance and everyone in the room knew it, even if they chose to believe otherwise.

He wasn’t ready to risk losing him forever.  Joker was the night sky.  Endless, limitless, full of so much possibility and potential, a place it felt safe to silently trust with hopes and dreams, even those that would never come true.  A neverending darkness that was inviting to lay with, but inevitably, unintentionally always reminded one of the crushing loneliness they had to bear once his sole company was gone.

Despite the two dragons latched to his hips, he still felt lonely.  Considering that there _were_ two dragons still latched onto his hips, he must not have been the only one.  “Tell me, have you two been feeling lonely?” Hanzo asked, reaching down to stroke at their heads.  They leaned into the touch, nuzzling the underside of his hands.  “Neither of you have left my sides.”

“ _Perchance we were feeling a bit…_ ” Hidari paused.  “ _What’s the word, Migi?_ ”

Migi ignored her.  “ _I forgot how good it feels to be touched._ ”

 _“Likewise,”_ Hidari said, willing to forget the word she had searching for to instead lose herself in the sensations.

Hanzo teasingly scoffed as they pressed against him.  “You two are ethereal beings that’s existence defies the laws that most humans know  You two have limitless power and can rip a man’s soul from his body.  You’re fierce dragons and yet you two are acting as attention-starved as kittens.”

“ _Like master, like dragon._ ” Migi retorted, earning a soft frown from Hanzo.

“ _We are not the only ones starving for physical affection, yes?_ ” Hidari said knowingly to Hanzo, earning a larger frown from him.

Migi didn’t hesitate to add her point.  “ _And we’re not the ones craving emotional affection either._ ”  

“ _We’re not the ones reaching out and_ **_groping_ ** _the American any chance we get._ ” Hanzo flushed at Hidari’s words and he sputtered for a response.  “I have _never-”_

Migi didn’t give him a chance to finish.  “ _We can feel some of those… particular things that you feel, the same way you can feel ours._ ”   He could sense another lecture coming, so he opted to cease his petting in protest and pull his long sleeve shirt from the pile, a loose fitting black Henley, so he could continue getting dressed.

“ _Attention-starvation is one of those things._ ” Hidari unnecessarily informed him.

_“So chide us all you want.”_

_“We know what you want, Hanzo.”_

_“And it’s the same thing that we crave.”_

They both looked up at him and spoke in unison.  “ _And that’s all your fault._ ”

He paused in the middle of pulling the shirt, remembering to finish the task and get it over his head before he looked down at them. “You can hardly blame _me_ for-” he paused his grumbling, rubbing at the piercing in the bridge of his nose.  “Perhaps dragons _are_ why Yuudai went insane.  He grew so irritated he skipped over being angry and just became mad instead.”

“ _Irritated you say?  Irritated like how your master won’t summon you even though he’s in a fight for his_ **_life_ ** _because he’s a prideful fool?_ ” Hidari asked.

“ _Or how it feels when your master never calls on you for anything ever because you’re a **useless disappointment**?”_ Migi asked, eyes wide as she looked up at him.

Hanzo’s hand fell from his face, the look on his face clear that he wasn’t taking their puppy-dog-eyed bait.  “Don’t give me that.  I call on you when necessary.  I just can’t risk all our lives by someone seeing two _giant_ dragons floating around and setting the Shimada pursuers on our path again.  It was hard enough to lose them last time, and the time before that.” He trailed his fingers along under her chin, scratching in _just_ the right spot.  “Surely you understand _why_ I must keep you two cooped up more often, yes?  It’s to keep us safe.”

Migi blew out a breath in defeat and Hidari ceased her arguing as well.  He could understand why they were upset.  They used to run free and previously he summoned them without hesitation.  Occasionally the clan’s pursuit’s flared up and became extra dogged, and now was one of those times.  The three of them just needed to wait out for the inevitable disinterest from their pursuers, then he could be more lax about summoning them in a fight.

“What if I give you two a small snack, for being so good lately?” he said, hoping to bribe them into silence.

“ _What sort of snack?_ ” Migi asked.

“ _We have been_ **_wonderful_ ** _lately._ ” Hidari added.  “ _Your reward should reflect that._ ”

“It will,” he assured them, pulling his hands away from them.  He received an angry hum from the two dragons, frustrated that the hands had left.  “Allow me to finish getting changed and I’ll give it to you.”

He stripped his baggy pants off and he took his boxers off right after.  A dark green pair of boxers went right back on, quickly followed by him pulling on a comfortable pair of black cargo pants.  His right leg got caught awkwardly as he pulled them on, his right foot stiffly navigating its way out through the pant leg.  He threw on his heavy black boots, hoisting them up and tying the laces tightly after he adjusted the tongues.

Now that he was dressed, he sat back down with his dragons.  “Are you ready to eat?”

“ _Are you giving us M &M’s? _ ” Migi asked.  “ _I stole those from your bag one time once.  They were crunchy and delicious.  Hidari and I both liked them._ ”

“I was wondering where those went,” Hanzo commented idly.  “No, not this time.  Something different.  One of your favorites.”

Reaching up, he put the tips of his pinkies in his mouth, nipping at them with his razor sharp canines.  He ripped the skin and small pools of blood oozed out of the little fingers.  He let his hands fall back down to his sides.  The two small dragons swooped in towards his hands, eagerly lapping at the slow streams of blood.

There was no speaking, no comments of any kind, while the two dragons drank away.  Just small slurps echoing throughout the tiled room.  Neither one of them wished to ruin the meal with any tomfoolery, not even Migi.

Blood was life force in its most concentrated form and an absolute treat for the two of them.  The two dragons carefully siphoned at Hanzo’s life force for casual day-to-day use, draining his energy just enough that he barely noticed.  It was usually only on days that he summoned them into battle, days where a fight drained them all, or days of not getting sleep and replenishing that energy that he noticed the pull.

“That’s enough,” he told them, pulling his hands away.  Both dragons attempted to hold his hand down where they could keep drinking from it.  Thankfully, through years of dedicated training and working out, he was stronger than two six-inch high dragons and managed to pull his hands away with ease.  “You two aren’t the only hungry ones.  I haven’t eaten since last night.  Give it a break, you gluttons.”

He shifted to grab his bag without having to go through the effort of sitting up.  He pulled it closer, popped it open, and dug around until he pulled some food from his stash.  He had a compartment in his bag just dedicated to food.  A rough start when he first set out on his own had made him paranoid of ever running out, so he always made sure to carry more than he would probably need before he could restock.

He sat and tore open a fruit bar, ripping it apart with his teeth.  Until he smelled it, he hadn’t realized how hungry he had been.  Once that fruit scent hit him, his stomach felt as if he was eating itself.

Eating quickly was a habit that had developed out of necessity.  It was a rare moment that Hanzo felt comfortable sitting down and taking his time fueling his body.  The times it did happen were usually in places where he had a dedicated time that he carved out for it, setting up the environment where he felt comfortable chewing his food more than three times before he swallowed.  

Dietarily-speaking, devouring his food was not the healthiest way to eat, he knew this.  It had been ingrained in him.  He had been raised to make sure his body was a picture of perfection.  There had been a strict diet and exercise regime to following while growing-up, one to make sure that he met their near-impossible goals at any moment’s notice or to ensure that he would immediately get to remedying his newfound flaws if he didn’t.  

Now here he was, defying every rule he had ever been taught when it came to food and his body was still in excellent, damn near perfect shape.  The life he lived now was rife with extreme workout potential, keeping his energy up was a necessity, and he deserved to refuel however he needed or wanted to.

Who would have known that rebellion could ever taste so delectable?

His two dragons had crawled into his lap while he devoured his food and looked up at him the whole time he was eating, silently begging for him to drop some for them.  He wouldn’t, not on purpose, not like he sometimes did.  There was no chance that they were still hungry after he had fed them; they were spiritual beings, they didn’t need to eat for nourishment and sustenance like he did.  The only reason that they ever ate was that they just liked how the delicious human food tasted on their greedy little dragon tongues.  

Hidari huffed into his leg as he balled the empty wrappers up in his hand, and Migi made her own feelings know by sharply tugging at his pants with her teeth before she lay her back down next to him.

“Did you two have a reason to stay out here or was it just to beg for my food?” he asked, unscrewing the cap off of a water bottle.

“ _Can’t we miss being with you?_ ” Migi asked.

“ _Can’t we miss being wanted?_ ” Hidari added.

“ _Can’t we still miss being needed?_ ”

Hanzo frowned mid-sip, swallowing and closing the bottle back up.  “I do still need you.  Did you think I didn’t?”  

He carefully picked the two of them up, bringing them closer to his eye-level.  “I would not have survived this long if I did not have you two to help me, I would be a dead man walking back in Hanamura.  Part of the reason we are sitting in an abandoned rest stop is that I needed to talk to you, I needed your advice.”  Leaning towards them, he gently pressed his cheek towards their heads, letting them butt up against him.  “You two are all I have left, you two are the only ones that understand me and I the only one who understands you.  We need each other, though I need you more than you need me.  I miss having you fight alongside me.  There will never be a day where I wish you apart from me.  Do you understand?”

Both dragons continued to nuzzle him, their silent action meant that they understood, sympathized, and wanted to apologize for their implications.

“ _Do you really think you need us more than we need you?_ ” Migi asked.   _“Because you’re wrong.”_

“I meant in the emotional sense, not in the sense that I am your only tether to the physical world and you rely on my life force to exist in this plane,” Hanzo said.

 _"That’s just mutually beneficial._ ” Hidari told him.  “ _You give us energy off the field, we give you power on it… When you chose to summon us, that is._ ”  The warning look that Hanzo sent was clear enough to say that he didn’t wish to have this conversation again, and both dragons bowed their heads and respected his wishes.

“I have to finish up in here,” he told them. “I can’t leave Joker waiting for too much longer.  It wouldn’t be fair to him.”  He rubbed his thumbs over their heads, “If you two agree to put yourselves away and go to sleep for a bit, I’ll let you run around whatever hotel room I get tonight.”

  _"Can we sleep in the bed?_ ” Migi asked.

He nodded.  “You may.”

“ _Can we use the tub for a hot bath?_ ” Hidari asked.  

“If I _can_ get a room with a tub, you may,” he told her.  “I’ll try my best.”

The two dragons looked at each other and gave micro-nods that were barely discernible to the human eye.  “ _Those terms are agreeable_ ,” they said, already slowly fading from sight.  They would stay quiet for now, leaving him alone to savor the silence for a moment before he set to cleaning up.

Standing slowly, he sidled over to the mirror and peeked at his reflection. His mouth quirked upwards as he could now clearly see how disheveled he looked, with his hair dreadfully mussed and his liner terribly smeared up his brow and down his cheeks.

“You look ridiculous,” he told his reflection, turning back towards his bag and grabbing a handkerchief and his bottle of water, ensuring that he also managed to snag two of his eyeliners while rifling through his things.  Once more, he stood before the mirror, unscrewing the bottle’s lid.  “Though, it is a look you wear well.” he continued.

Holding the cloth over the lid of the bottle, he flipped the items over, wetting it, and then set the bottle on the lip of the sink.  Carefully, he wiped at his face, the eyeliner and other grime clinging to the cloth.

“However, he’s only ever seen you on the field, never off it.  He’s never seen you this…” he paused to pour more water on the cloth as he pondered the word, “...intimately before.  Whether or not it _actually_ is, think of this as the very last impression you’re ever going to be able to leave on him.” His eyes met his reflection once more.  “And make sure it’s a damn good one he’ll _never_ forget.”

*****

McCree had long since vacated the truck to go stand a ways away by the designated smoking area, cigarette in his hand as he puffed to pass the time.  The door to the rest stop opened, the click of the door’s latch catching his attention.  A quick check of his watch told him that Okami had taken twenty-eight minutes and some.

He was just in time. Two minutes more and McCree would have been gunning to break down the door.

“Joker, did you wish to change at all?” Okami called over to him as he walked towards the truck.

“Nah, I’m fine,” McCree assured him.  “Just gotta remove this mask here an’ no one spares me a second glance in the rest of this getup.”

As he mosied back to the truck, he let his eyes roam over Okami’s form, letting them linger on his backside as the other man turned back to checked that he had shut the door to the abandoned building.  He threw his cigarette down and crushed it underboot as he headed back to the truck, popping open the door as Okami had tucked his case into the backseat once more.  As he slid into the passenger seat, Okami rubbed at his right cheek, inadvertently blocking his face from McCree’s sight.

That was alright.  McCree was a patient man.  If Okami was feeling shy, then he could take as much time as he pleased to get his gumption back.  Besides, it gave McCree a chance to savor the other swaps that Okami had made.

He was now wearing that black jacket, the one that he had loaned as a pillow, zippered only up to the bottom of his ribs.  It was a heavy jacket for the heat, McCree could hardly blame him for hardly zipping it up.  The black cargo pants were surprisingly casual but plenty comfortable from the looks of ‘em.  Comfier than these weighty, stiff thrift store duds McCree wore while in this disguise at least.  Those black heavy-duty boots he had seen in the case were now on Okami’s feet, covering his legs up to his mid-calf.  

As Okami turned the key and started up the engine McCree’s eyes trailed back up to his torso, taking a second to appreciate how the henley fit over the positively gorgeous swell of his muscles.  His eyes raked higher, delaying their ascent to properly introduce himself to the pale throat he had never seen before.  He took a moment before he looked at Okami’s face, bracing himself and preemptively reining in his reaction.  

Finally ready, he looked up, taking in the sure-to-be-amazing sight that was Okami’s face-...

…-mask.

McCree blinked twice, silently flabbergasted by the sight. There was now a baby blue cotton mask covering up the lower half of Okami’s face, from the jawline up to the mid-bridge of his nose.  That was exactly what the other facemask had covered too.

His small hopes of a reveal dashed, McCree shrugged it off, just taking it all in stride.  What Okami covered up and didn’t cover up was his business.  It was a mite bit disappointing to still be left wondering, yeah, but this was Okami; McCree should have been expecting something like this.

“Feeling better?” McCree asked him, taking in how much more relaxed his posture was now.

Okami let out a content sigh, a pretty little sound.  “Yes, immensely,” he said.  “I’m not sure if I would have been able to stand driving the rest of the way in those right now, but I do apologize for the delay.  That took longer than I anticipated.”

“Pshaw, that ain’t nothing to worry about,” McCree told him good-naturedly, waving his apology off.  “You gave me plenty of time to relax out here, stretch m’legs, an’ get my own shit done.  Think it was a good stop for both of us to take.”

Okami turned to look behind them as he pulled out of the parking space, giving McCree a chance to finally take notice of how much he had cleaned himself up.  His hair was damp as if he had attempted to quickly wash it, and neatly tied in a small top knot on the back of his head.  The locks were all tightly slicked back but McCree could already see a shorter piece beginning to slip out and fall forward across his face.

The truck pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the highway, continuing their journey towards Vegas. “Did you manage to repair your arm?” Okami asked him, sparing him a quick glance.

McCree stumbled at getting the words out, distractedly humming a half-reply as he met the man’s eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, mmm hmm,” he said.  “Ain’t too hard to fix once you got the right tools.” he grinned. “Thanks for lending me ‘em so I could get...get-” he broke his gaze from Okami’s, “-get my arm fixed up.  I owe you one.”

Okami shook his head.  “You owe me nothing.”

“Nothing big, maybe, but maybe I’ll find a good way to pay you back, you know?” McCree licked his lips and trailed his eyes back up to Okami’s eyes. “Maybe I could buy you dinner some-…” he tripped over his words again, forgetting he was talking as he gazed at Okami. “-sometime.”

Okami seemed to be weighing the idea.  “Perhaps.” His answer shot a spark into McCree’s chest, sending his heart aflutter.  He then noticed small silver earrings in the man’s earlobe and a small black stud piercing in the upper lobe, most likely mirrored on the other side of his head, happily drinking in the punk-rock perfection before him.  Could this man get any more attractive?

Unable to hold back any longer, McCree leaned an arm onto the console, resting his face in his hand as he grinned up at Okami.  “You know, you clean up real nice.” His smile grew bigger as Okami met his eyes once more.  “And I don’t know much about makeup, but what I do know is that you did your eyes up _real_ nice.”

The man’s eyes were gorgeous enough already, but now here he was, a dark-eyed hunk who cleaned up into someone even more beautiful.  The black liner skirted his waterline and thinly outlined his eyes.  Then he had gone and winged a thicker red liner, trailing it along his lid, making his gaze all the more distractingly hypnotic.  

McCree never put in much thought about makeup before, wasn’t exactly his forte, but, damn, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.  Wasn’t every day a fella’ like him got to ride around with a hot male model of a chauffeur behind the wheel.

“Oh?” Okami seemed surprised.  “Do you like it?” his voice grew lower and slower, his tone curling towards pleased.

“O, honey, I _love_ it,” McCree said, living for the self-satisfied look that lit up Okami’s eyes.  The man’s expressions were ten times more beautiful when he wasn’t stuck looking like a like a perpetually pissed-off raccoon.  “Never seen you without your eyeblack going down to your cheeks.  Never had any clue what all I was missing."

“I’d also imagine that you look nice yourself,” Okami said,  “Once all the blood and grime has been washed away that is.”

“Beg your pardon, O, but have you looked at me?” Okami spared him another glance at his behest. “With a face like this, I could be the cover model of Blood and Grime Monthly™.”

Okami barked a laugh. “Ah, well then.  I suppose I’d have to buy that issue, just to support your odd endeavor into the world of modeling.”

“Aw, thanks, O,” McCree said, resting his head in his hand. “Quick question: you buying it for the cover art or my sexy centerfold shoot?”

There was a half second flinch where Okami looked caught completely stunned by the offer.  “Enticing options, but neither,” Okami responded near instantaneously, regaining his composure.  “I’d buy it for the interview where you inevitably can’t stop talking and waxing poetic and fawning over me, despite the questions you're _actually_ asked.”

McCree paused a moment, shoving himself back away from Okami and returned to sitting upright in his seat.  He wasn’t sure if that was a jab at his absolutely enamored puppy-loving or Okami’s way of telling him to back the fuck up.  An uncomfortable feeling grew in his stomach as he started to wonder just how badly he had misread the signs, reading them the way he wanted to rather than how he should have and screwed everything up.

An apology was on his lips, but he swallowed it back down as Okami’s fingers gently raked against his arm.  “Does your arm still hurt?” he asked McCree, curling his fingers and gently massaging at the muscle with his knuckles. “You just flung yourself off of it.  Have you gone and tweaked something else now, you poor, unlucky man?”

“No, I-” McCree paused, watching as Okami’s hand crept up his shoulder, kneading at it gently to help calm him down.  There was no disguising that he was bothered by something.  He might as well be open about it. “Thought I offended you or read our banter wrong an’ hurt you.”

Okami looked at him, confused.  “You’ve done nothing of the sort, Joker, you never have.  Whatever you think you’ve done, you haven’t, because I’ve adored every minute of my time with you.” McCree looked over at him doubtingly.  “I mean it, Joker.  I do.” A cheeky look lit up his eyes.  “And you should feel likewise.  There are not many men I would feel so comfortable getting… intimate with.  You _should_ feel honored, Joker, but let me know if you don’t yet...” he looked over at McCree languidly, as his hand continued to skim against McCree’s arm,“I don’t like to disappoint.”

His sincere words rang through McCree’s ears, swimming through his mind and lodging themselves in his throat and chest.  The hand massaging up his arm felt positively _electric_.  His heart rate sped up, hammering against his ribcage so strongly he was worried that his bones would crack and his heart would run away with him.  It wouldn't be the first time.

For the first time in years, McCree felt needed.  Wanted.  Loved.  And it had to be by someone that may have _wanted_ him around, yeah, but they didn’t _need_ him.  Not like McCree needed him.  Whether or not he even wanted him was debatable.

But not love.  Whether or not love was involved wasn’t debatable.

Okami was a shooting star in the night sky, a beacon of pure majestic power, racing through and prettying the place up, but leaving far too soon and making you wonder if you were ever going to see him again.  He didn’t need McCree.  Okami didn’t hang on McCree’s words like Jesse did on his.  He didn’t crave his company like McCree craved his.

He probably wasn’t as lonely as McCree was either.  He probably had people to return to, people that cared about him, people that needed him, adored him, loved him.  How could someone as wonderful as him not?

Jesse was hopeless.  Hopelessly in love with a man he might never get to see again.  And all this hopeless fool could hope for was that distance was a good cure for being stupidly in love.

“...Joker?” Okami’s voice was quiet, his tone a clear indicator that he had been saying McCree’s handle a few times now.  The backside of his fingers were running along the side of McCree’s throat, softly working their way up and down.  Coming to his senses, McCree found he had inadvertently been leaning into the gentle touch.  He couldn’t be doing this.  It had to stop.  He had to get over this before it pulled him under.  

Okami’s hand froze in place as McCree placed his metal one on top of it.  Jesse wanted to hold Okami there and never let him go, but he couldn’t.  They were friends if even that.  That’s all they were. He wasn’t going to ruin the only good thing he had because he couldn't keep it in his pants.  He wasn’t going to ruin what they had by getting selfish and reminding life that every good thing he could find needed to be ripped away. He couldn’t do it.  Not to the only person he had left.

And at the very least, McCree was going to do his best to pull himself together for the rest of the ride.  He had the chance to leave one last impression before they went their separate ways, and he had to make sure it was a damn good one so he was never forgotten.

“Mmm?” he hummed, soaking in that final sensation of contact before he carefully pulled Okami’s hand away from his throat.  Couldn’t let himself get used to that.  Couldn't let himself want it. “Tuned out for a second, O, that’s my bad.  Do you mind repeating what you were sayin’ for me?”

“I was simply trying to get your attention,” Okami said slowly, briefly staring at his hand as McCree let it go.  “I’ve only said your name thus far, but you’re right in thinking I had something else to add.”

“What’sit?” McCree said, trying to silence that churning burn in his gut as he watched Okami reluctantly pull his hand away to the steering wheel and clench it until his knuckles were white.

“We might not have had quite as much fuel as I thought.” Okami gestured towards the fuel indicator, his hands relaxing a hint, the gauge’s arrow much closer to the E than the F “We’re in no threat of running out at this moment, but I’m not certain we have enough to get to Las Vegas.  I thought it better to find a station while it’s quiet.” Okami glanced his way.  “Would you happen to know a good place to stop where there won’t be too many people?  You seem more familiar with the area than I would ever claim to be.”

McCree leaned back in thought, then reached out fiddle with the built-in GPS, using it to see where they were.  His eyes widened when he saw how close they were getting to Vegas.  They’d be there within the hour.  That was much, much too soon.

“Keep your eyes peeled for Searchlight,” he told Okami.  He went back to looking at the map.  The town would be coming up soon, and it was the last town before a long stretch of non-stop highway.  They miss that town, they’d be cutting it close with the fuel they had now.

“Question,” Okami said, breaking his concentration.

McCree straightened up and leaned back in his seat.  “What’s your question?”

Okami pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting for a second as he figured out how to word his quandary.  His eyes opened, his hand fell back to the wheel, and all semblance of tactfulness gave way to blunt confusion. “How the hell am I supposed to see a searchlight at five in the evening.  It’s not even dark yet.  How am I supposed to spot a town using something I can’t see?”

McCree swallowed down a chuckle, covering up the sound by coughing into his fist instead.  “Searchlight’s the name of the town, O,” he explained after a moment, “but I admire how resourceful you can be regardless, honeybunch.”

“Ah.” Okami looked a touch embarrassed that his all-encompassing knowledge had somehow skipped over this one dinky, basically unknown American town’s confusing name.

“Small town too,”  McCree said conversationally as he read the data entry on the town.  “S’only got about five hundred people living there if even that.”

Okami let out a dry laugh.  “My ‘family’s’ bigger than that.”  As soon as the words left his mouth, he clamped his jaw shut.  A look of regret crossed his eyes, and it was clear from the micro-twitches on his face that he was mentally berating himself for his one-liner for some reason.

“Hoo, remind me to never celebrate Christmas at your place.  Nothing says peace on earth an’ goodwill towards men like having to deck your third, fourth, fifth, an’ sixth cousins to make sure you can get a piece of pecan pie. ” McCree joked.  “Keep an eye on the right here.  The exit’s coming up soon, an’ we sure don’t wanna miss it.”

Shoulders gently shaking, Okami let out a quiet laugh.  “You sound as if you speak from experience, Joker.” he teased.  “Have your family gatherings also been so crowded that you resorted to violence?”

“Mine?  Nah.  Never really had any big family gatherin’s.  Would have liked to, though.” McCree said, sliding down into his seat.  “My family was never that big.  Jus’ me an’ my mom an’ dad for a bit.  Then just me an’ my gran’ma’ an’ pa’ for a bit longer.  Then it was me’ an’ a small make-do family for not near long enough.”  

The next part didn’t need to be said.  He was alone now.  That much was clear to anyone with eyes and two brain cells to rub together.

Okami picked up what he was saying, though, and tackled the subject with his usual blunt manner.  “That sounds depressing.  My condolences on your losses.”

“No condolences needed.  It’s been years now.” McCree sighed.  “Don’t really hurt as much as it just kinda feels numb sometimes.”

“Numbness isn’t an indication of recovery nor is it a sign of being okay in any fashion,” Okami said.  “It merely means that this pain has been with you for so long that it’s now a part of who you are.  That does not make you okay, but it doesn’t mean you’re not.  You’re struggling to live with the past and that, in itself, _is_ okay.”  Okami paused, the mask shifting as he nibbled on his lip.  “...It is, Isn’t it?” he asked, looking towards Jesse, uncharacteristic uncertainty in his eyes. “To struggle, I mean.”

“Well, golly, I hope so, or else I’m flunkin’ life,” McCree replied, his bark of a laugh dying along with the fake smile on his lips as he grew more somber.  “Is that what numbness is to you, then, O?  I always thought of it like a hole that needed to be filled.”

“Different people feel different things, I suppose,” Okami said with a shrug.  “Personally, if I distract myself, I don’t think about it and thus I don’t notice it until the distraction runs out and I’m _forced_ to acknowledge it and suffer.” he hummed in thought as he drove, musing on McCree’s question. “Perhaps that’s how I fill my void of numbness - by keeping busy and staying on the move.  Why stop to smell the roses if they’re only going to prick you and draw more blood?”  

“How can someone not notice a numbness that’s always there like that?” Jesse asked.  He always felt it, no matter what he did.  This car ride with this companion was the only time that gap had felt plugged, even if only temporarily.  Alcohol helped, and shit did he drink too much of it to calm himself down, but it there had to be a better way to ignore it; no man ever fixed a sinking boat by drowning it further  “I don’t understand.

“Hmm.  Let me see…” Okami’s words trailed off as he thought, sitting up straighter when he came up with an answer only a second later.  “Your nose is always on your face, yes?  It is always in your line of sight, but, after years of it being there and growing familiar to your eyes, your brain has learned to ignore it, considering it as a part of you.  You only notice it if you choose to, or if something about it has changed enough to grab your attention and drag it there...” Okami’s eyes darted downward as he tapped at the tip of his nose. “Such as wearing a mask over it.  That certainly scares my brain into alerting me that I indeed have a nose.”

He smiled at Okami as he glanced back his way.  “Figured that your big ol’ brain would be used to those masks by now considering how often you wear ‘em.”

“Believe it or not, I was not born with a mask covering my face,” Okami informed him.

McCree shrugged, teasing grin on his lips. “It looks so natural, though, I jus' figured that you was born with it.  Aw, well, you coulda’ fooled me, O.”  The playful roll of Okami’s eyes, the way they creased in the corners as he smiled, had his heart beating against his chest.

Oh, he was smitten.  Head over heels in love with a man he might never see again.  That was a bonafide Jesse McCree move if he had ever had one to claim as his own.

“I think I get what you’re saying though,” McCree said with a nod. “It’s like how you forget you have a tongue sittin’ in your mouth, ‘cause it’s always there, and it ain’t a problem until you think about it an’ realize it’s there an’ then you can’t help but notice it an’ how it’s just kinda’ there afterward, right?”

McCree looked over Okami, waiting for a reply of any kind.  A confirmation that he was on the right track or a helping hand to correct him, either was fine.  Instead, all he saw was Okami working his handsome jawline, his nose and brow wrinkling on and off as his jaw moved up and down.  An eye twitched as well.  “Right?” McCree asked again, trying to garner any sort of response at this point.

Okami whipped his head and glared at him, his eyes as hard as stone.  McCree’s breath caught in his throat the second that he locked eyes with Okami.  “Joker… he said, his tone full of warning, despite his words sounding awkward.  He swallowed thickly, his face screwing in annoyance. “I have never thought about my tongue like...What do I do with-?...I-...” he groaned softly. “I do not like this.  It feels- It’s- I don’t- I can’t-...Gah, why would you even say that?”

McCree had to bite down on his lip to keep from smiling at his partner’s dilemma.  Considering how uncomfortable Okami seemed, any laughing in the slightest would probably not be well-received.  It was a good thing that McCree could pull a poker face like nobody’s business.

Did he feel bad about being the cause of this?  Yes.  

Was he enjoying it at all?  You better believe it.

“I got some tic-tacs in my bag.  Strongest mint you’ve ever tasted.  I use after I smoke or drink.” McCree offered. “I can give you two and I promise that you won’t be feeling your mouth for a while.”

“Please,” Okami said, holding out his hand.  His jaw was still moving and it was clear he was still uncomfortable.  Something about the sensation was rubbing him the wrong way; that would be the second time this ride that something of that ilk had gotten under his skin, poor fella’.  Hopefully, the mints would help him stop being bothered by it long enough to forget that it was even a new issue in the first place.  

McCree shook out the two mints and dropped them into Okami’s hand.  He watched as Okami yanked his hand towards his face and smacked the palm of his hand against his masked mouth.  He let it sit there for a moment before he let out a loud sigh.

“Did you forget you were wearing a mask?” McCree asked slowly.  This poker face was getting harder and harder to keep pulling off.

Okami nodded slowly and reluctantly confirmed his thoughts. “I forgot I was wearing the mask,” he said, his voice muffled by his own hand.

Cupping a hand on the side of his head, McCree turned to look out the window, making sure that Okami was completely out of sight.  “Go ahead,” he told him.  “Pop ‘em.  I ain’t lookin’.”

There was a soft rustle of fabric behind him as the mask was pulled down, and a quiet crunch as Okami bit down on the hard mints.  As curious as he was to whip his head around and take a gander, McCree contented himself with staring out the window.  As he watched the world pass by, he noticed a faded road-sign announcing that exit for Searchlight was just up ahead.

“Hey, O-” McCree called out, hearing the rustle indicating that Okami had pulled the mask back on.

“I saw,” he said, turning on the turn signal as he moved into the right exit lane, despite there being no other cars around for miles.  McCree was finding that driving with Okami was a mix of driving with a cautious grandmother and cocky drag racer.  It was fascinating in the best way.  Just like O.

It was a short drive from the highway to the town if one could even call it a town.  The few buildings they had passed were spaced far apart in the cracked sand and had clearly seen better days.  The paint had been sanded off the buildings by nature alone, and there were very few cars scattered about.  The remnants of a burned down structure remained on a lot, with the destroyed wood charred black.  Most of the businesses were dark, though it was unclear if they were vacant or just closed for the day.  The open businesses they did pass were a small grocery store, two local Mexican restaurants, a bank, and a fast-food joint that had probably looked sleek and modern at one point, but was now more on the grungy side.  Two collarless mutts walked past them, a large brown dog and a smaller black one, making their way down towards a row of houses.  An older man glared at the two of them as they drove by, a large, antique shotgun propped up by his rocking chair.  A cow was wandering around the downtown area, happy as could be in this faux abandoned wasteland.

They stopped the car at the one stoplight in the quiet downtown area, Okami’s hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.  McCree glanced at him, only momentarily getting distracted by the fucking scariest butcher shop he’d ever seen, it had a huge-ass bloody cleaver for a logo with flickering fluorescent lights and all.  “Hey, O, you alright?”

Okami looked over at him with the wide eyes.  “We are going to die here,” he said grimly, speaking through tightly clenched teeth.

McCree tried to put the butcher shop they passed out of his mind.  “No, we ain’t.”  He was trying very hard to forget about the creepy butcher shop.  “This is just a small town.” With the world’s first horror-house and butcher shop combo. “We’re not gonna die here.” As long as they didn’t go to the butcher’s shop they weren’t.

“I also come from a small town,” Okami stated, pulling forward as the light turned green and leaving the two-block-wide downtown behind them.  “This is no civilization.  This is purgatory.” he paused, sucking in a sharp breath.  “Perhaps you and I _did_ die back there in that fight, or maybe I just did and you’re not actually here, and this is a level of hell- Ow!”

McCree had pinched above Okami’s right pectoral, pulling away as Okami swatted at him.  It was the only spot that had looked soft enough to get a decent grip.  It worked like a charm. “If you were dead that wouldin’a hurt, right?” he asked, getting a slow nod out of Okami. “We’re fine, O.  This is just the small town aesthetic.”

“Horrifying is an odd aesthetic end goal,” Okami commented as he started down a dusty road.  There was a fuel station partway down, a dingy store and gas station combination.  At least this place had gas.  McCree had been starting to worry that this town wasn’t even going to have _that._

“Ya’know, I will admit, I’m from a small town too and this one does lean towards creepy,” McCree admitted. “But that doesn't mean that we’re not in a civilization-” Okami had to slow down to let a massive tumbleweed pass by. “-Of some kind-”  Their pace stopped completely as a goat materialized out of the tall, dead grass to their right to meander into the middle of the road.  Okami looked over at him with a brow raised high, and McCree awkwardly shrugged as he reached towards the dashboard. “Listen, I’ll bet they play nice lil’ country songs on the radio that we’ll be humming all week.”

McCree turned up the radio.  It played a hefty amount of static, but he could just make out words somewhere underneath the fuzz.  He slowly adjusted the station, listening carefully to make sure that he didn’t miss it.  The two of them needed a good song right now.  Just something so that they didn’t go crazy driving through this creepy-ass town with a creepy-ass butcher shop convincing themselves they were doomed.

The words faded, so that meant McCree had overshot them.  If he kept playing the back and forth game, he was sure that he could find them, but it would take far more time and sanity than the two of them possessed at the moment. He gave the automatic tuner a trying, giving it a chance to find the first station that wasn’t just static.  He instantly regretted it. 

A gravelly recording of a loud-voiced man began playing, static underlying the shouted words, an English speaker followed by a robotic Spanish translator for every line, proclaiming that total damnation was upon them and that they needed to repent and be good children for obedience was one-.

McCree clicked the radio off, frozen in place as he slack-jawedly stared at it.  He glanced up at Okami, who looked as wide-eyed and freaked out as he felt.  The man actually sank back against his seat, creating as much space as possible between him and the now hushed radio.  The surreality of the broadcast finally hit and, going against his instinct, McCree clicked the radio back on.  He had to know if that had been real.

“- _And then next week we’re looking at clear skies all day, getting up towards the upper nineties, lower hundreds by mid-week-”_

Punching at the volume button, McCree silenced the radio once more, cutting off the friendly-sounding woman giving the weather report.  He sat back up slowly, straight as a board.  His hands useless hovered a moment, as he was unsure what to do with them before he finally brought them to lay in his lap, his left and right hand fighting to lay on top as neither position felt comfortable right now.  He finally settled for clasping his hands together in his lap, fingers interwoven with each other.  

Stiffly, he turned to face Okami and meet his eyes, swallowing thickly.  “We are going to die here.” he finally agreed, the two of them nervously looking forward towards the road ahead of them.  The goat in the road ominously bleated, an evil hollow sound, menacingly staring into the truck passengers’ souls.

“You have your gun on you, yes?” Okami asked quietly.

Hand pawing for his gun, McCree paused and looked between Okami and the furry roadblock. “We’re _not_ shooting the goat,”  McCree argued, telling this to both Okami and himself.  

“That was _not_ what I was- Out of all the possible threats, that damn goat is not at the top of my concerns. Though he does make the top ten at the moment-” Cutting himself off as he growled in exasperation, Okami paused and glanced over at McCree. “So you were considering shooting it too then?”

McCree neglected to inform Okami that he was right, that he had been considering the goat a threat, at least a small one.  It didn’t make sense, but in a demonic, godforsaken town like this, it didn’t have to.

Instead of replying to O, he popped his door open and waved away the goat, shouting at it in Spanish.  “ _Hey, hey!_   _Get out of the road, you devil slut!  Move, faster, leave._ ”  The goat glared at him with beady little eyes before skulking back to its field, vanishing in a rustle of the large, dead weeds.

The two of them watched the goat leave, not daring to speak, barely breathing until it was out of view.  “Do you have it on you or not?” Okami barked, demanding, needing, an answer about the gun's whereabouts.

“Yeah, an’-” McCree whipped his gun out of the holster, letting Okami see that he had it, and checked his ammo.  “Got six shots ready if we need them.”  As the car began to pull forward once more, driving them towards the unknown, he really hoped they didn’t need them.

“Good.  As much as I don’t want to, we really should stop for gas.” Okami said, hesitantly pulling up towards the station.  He parked the car alongside a pump, sighing as he looked it over.  “I have to pay inside.  I’ll go put ten dollars worth in the pump.  That should be enough to ensure we make it to Vegas.” he paused in the middle of unbuckling his seatbelt, “You’re not still sparking, Joker, are you?”

“No sir, I got my sparks and zaps all sorted out.  Nothing of the sort comin’ out of this arm here.” McCree reassured him, unbuckling his seatbelt.  He wanted to be ready to pump the gas at a moment’s notice.  The sooner they could get out of here the better.

With a nod, Okami headed inside, already pulling a small wallet from his back pocket as he entered the doors.  McCree tried his damndest but he couldn’t see through the dirt-covered windows.  He kept his ears open, listening for if Okami needed any help since he couldn’t see him.  

The shrill ding of the pump being ready to use just about made McCree jump out of his skin.  He began fueling up the car, staring intently at the station.  Okami should have come back out the minute the money traded hands.  Where was he?

Once he finished fueling the truck, McCree slid the pump back into place and started jogging around the front of the truck.  He was halfway to the store as Okami exited out the front, a small plastic sack in hand.

“We both thought we were going to be murdered and you went shopping?” McCree asked.

“It only took me a _minute_ , Joker,” Okami said, popping open the back door and stuffing the small bag in his guitar case.

McCree blew out a breath as he headed back towards the truck.  “Aw, don’t you get huffy with me.  I thought you coulda’ been dying in there, O.”

“And look how you _raced_ to my aid.” Okami teased.  “I do apologize for worrying you.” Okami continued as they both climbed back into the front.  “I was taking a moment to browse the small inconvenience store in there.”

McCree pursed his lips in thought as he processed what had been said.  “Don't you mean a _convenience_ store?” he asked, lazily looking over at Okami.

Okami let his head roll towards Jesse and looked McCree in the eye.  “Not at that size, it's not.”  He buckled his seatbelt quickly and McCree followed suit.  He knew better than to dally when it came to the seatbelts around O.

“Now we get out of here, Joker,” Okami said as he popped the keys in the ignition.  McCree raised a brow, wondering if something happened in the station that bothered Okami.  The question must have been clear on his face because Okami answered it. “They looked at me oddly in there.  I want to leave.  Now.”

“That’s all it takes to make you want to split from somewhere?” McCree teased as Okami quickly pulled out of dirt lot, looking the gorgeous, masked, punk-looking man up and down.  “Well, then it's no wonder I can never find you in the same place twice.”

Okami didn’t respond, his eyes glued to the road as he drove them out of Searchlight.  Not once did he look back, and McCree was fairly certain that he was actually breaking the speed limit to get them out of there.  His arms were tense as they drove, his back straight as a board, and he didn’t relax until they were miles down the road, back where the path was paved and death no longer felt imminent.

Twenty minutes of racing down later, Hanzo let out a tired sigh and eased up on the gas, bringing them back down to the speed limit.  Other cars were beginning to show up on the road by now.  They were getting close to Vegas.  Dammit.

“So you speak Spanish?” Hanzo finally asked, relaxing enough to speak once more.  “Are you fluent or do you just know how to yell at goats?”

“Fluent.  The first language I was taught, technically.  My mama was a full-blooded Mexican, an’ we lived by her folks, an’ papa was half-white an’ half-Mescalero.  I grew up learning English an’ Spanish at the same time, but Spanish stuck more ‘cause I used it more, especially with gran’ma an’ pa.” Joker said.  “English is technically my second language even though I speak it more often ‘round most people.  Other than that all I know is bits and pieces of other languages.” he continued as

“You’re bilingual then?” Hanzo asked.

“I mean, yeah, I suppose, kinda,” Joker replied, sinking into his seat and shrugging far too casually.  “Now, I know that it don’t make me fluent, but I can ask where the bathroom is in seven other languages.  What more than that do’ya need?  With that under my belt, I’m set for life.”

“If all you wish to do is tour a country’s bathrooms, then I suppose you _are_ set.”  Hanzo mused, looking the man over.  Joker had lied again.  His body language gave him away as had his tone.  

He lied differently than most people did, the reason being that he was good at it.  Very good.  Instead of tensing up, he grew too relaxed, almost boneless at times, attempting to play himself off as a harmless threat.  His accent grew thicker when he lied, his tone being more heavily drawled, his words being spoken as low and slow as molasses, while most liars tended to speak too quickly. He was completely ease when he lied, finding no need to pressure one into believing what they find no reason not to. 

There were physiological traps that revealed liars and Joker countered each of them with ease, being so effective it was damn near impossible to detect his untruths unless you considered that he lied so well that he gave himself away doing the exact opposite of what liars did.  It was a very convoluted sort of thinking, the type that Hanzo despised, but the only thing that seemed to be straight about Joker were his shots, a roundabout-kind of thinking was sometimes the only way to catch on to him.  

There was a pattern to his lies as well, one that Hanzo had now confirmed; Most of the time Joker spoke the truth, wearing his heart on his sleeve as easily as that hat on his head.  When it came to his talents and skills, though, he always lied to downplay them.  Always.

This was more sly than typical southern American modesty.  This was manipulation at its most subtle, where he mixed in truths, and small jokes, to make his deceit more easily swallowed. 

Don't pay me any mind, his demeanor screamed, I'm no threat to you. 

A lie.  All of it. The man was skilled in deception, using it to create an unseen advantage for himself, though whether this skill was all natural talent or a a tool taught to him remained to be seen. No matter. He was a much larger threat then he would ever let on, Hanzo was sure.

That mentality must have spawned from being a child in a dangerous gang, where the shadows were the safest place to be and staying in the background would keep you alive another night.  The fact that he still kept at it meant that it must have been severely ingrained in him as a survival skill during that time.  Another thought was that he had seen others strive for greatness and fail in the end, finding those shadows on the sidelines, the dwellings of men who were just not quite remarkable enough, a comfortable home to reside.  

Perhaps it was some combination of all of those things, of protection, of self-security, of doomed aspirations, and of inevitable failures.

Always downplay and forever be in second place so someone else would always be targeted before you.  Everyone fought to earn the gold medal, either through skill or sabotage, but no one ever lusted and killed for the silver, the first loser’s medallion.  The shadows were always safer than the spotlight.  Clever man.

Hanzo couldn't relate to that mentality.  It had been drilled into him that the only worth he would _ever_ have would come from being center stage, commanding the attention that he had fought to earn.  Leaders had to be the best, king’s needed to earn their thrones, monarchs killed for their crowns, and any display lacking perfection would destroy everything he had ever worked for.

He needed to be the best, he had to be.  Even with no one to judge him but himself, he had to.  It was a compulsion to show-off, to display his skills, and to fight for a drop of praise.  He had to be the best.  He was the best, he had to always be the best, and he was _never_ second best.  Never.

“What about you?” Joker asked, pulling Hanzo from his analysis.  “You in the same boat as me, with English as your second language an’ all?”

Okami shook his head. “No.”

“Third?” McCree guessed, sincerely hoping that he wasn’t heading the wrong way with his guesses.  He didn’t want to end up insulting the guy if English, for some damn fluked-up reason, ended up being his first language.

“Fourth,” Okami replied.  “English is my fourth language, both in terms of order of learning as well as fluency.”  McCree opened his mouth for his next question, but Okami cut him off, knowing what he was going to ask.  “The languages I do know, in order of fluency, are Japanese, Mandarin Chinese, Korean, specifically the Hanguk dialect found in South Korea, and then English.  I had been looking at Hindi as the next one to conquer.  Now I am not so sure.”

Okami didn’t just learn languages, he conquered them, via his own admission.  McCree held back a chuckle.  That dangerously enthusiastic image of him beating down knowledge to attain it fit him to a T.  “Why’d’ja pick those languages if you don’t mind my asking?” he asked.

He shrugged.  “They were _heavily_ encouraged as the ones I _had_ to learn.  Given the choice, English would have been my second language, the same choice my sibling made.” Okami said.  “However, it was deemed more necessary for me to prioritize Chinese and Korean so that I could personally speak with… _friends_ of the family.  English was only allowed after I met satisfactory requirements of the other two, though more because events at the time bumped it up the priority list to a necessity.” Okami sighed.  “I wish I had been allowed to learn it earlier.  It would be wonderful to understand more than I do.  It is tiring to struggle with it.”

“You speak English just as pretty as any full-blooded American I’ve ever met,” McCree assured him.  “Shoot, when you said it wasn’t your second language, I was startin’ to wonder if it was actually your first; you’re that good.”

“Truly?” Okami asked.  Fucker needed to stop using that damn wide-eyed head tilt of inquisition if McCree was ever gonna fall out of love with him.

“Truly.” McCree nodded.  “Anything you put your mind to doing, you do it amazingly.  I only wish I had half the talent you do.”

“You do,” Okami replied sincerely.  “You do possess at least _half_ of my talent, Joker, absolutely.  More than that, I’m sure.”

McCree obnoxiously laid his hand over his heart.  “Aw gee, thanks, O.”

“You’re certainly one of the most skilled men I’ve ever met.” Okami continued.  “Working alongside you has been a true honor.  I want you to know that.”

“I-ah.  Uh.  Thanks.” McCree tried to respond better than that, but he felt a lump form in his throat.  His eyes started to grow damp again.  Oh, he was going to miss this.  He was going to miss the soft compliments.  The words were nothing to Okami but they were everything to him.  He was going to miss the quick banter.  He was going to miss being wanted by someone.

They passed by a sign announcing that Las Vegas was coming up soon.  The steady trickling of traffic had become more congested as they neared the city.  The desert had long since given any to the metropolis that was the casino capital of the United States, with palm trees replacing the cacti and tourists taking the place of the tumbleweeds.  The city line lay up ahead.  Soon, they’d be trading the endless desert for a concrete jungle and he’d be losing his partner in crime to the fork in the road.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?” Jesse asked, already reaching for the switch.  Denial was his friend.  Anything to delay thinking over the inevitable.  Music had a habit of being his savior when his thoughts crossed from stable to somber.  

Right as his fingertip touched the volume dial his hand was swatted away from the radio.  “Don’t you dare,” Okami growled.

McCree sat up, confused.  “Don’t I dare what?  Turn on the radio?”

“Yes,” Okami said, eyes glued to the road as traffic grew thicker.  “Don’t.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, McCree looked over at Okami.  “Explain why not, O.”

Okami stayed stubbornly silent for a minute, debating how to word his opposition to the possibility of sweet city tunes. “I do not wish to hear another-” he paused, searching for the word he wanted. “-disembodied voice over that thing.”

McCree’s face scrunched up barely concealed amusement. “Now, O, I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t no one actually _in_ that lil’ box there,” he said, gesturing to the radio. “Any voice that comes out of there is, uh, well, disembodied.”

“You know that’s not the word I meant.” Okami quickly retorted, stopping the car at a red light.  “I don’t wish to hear the dead talk over that again like they did in that godforsaken village.”

Perking up in his seat, McCree slowly reached for the radio again.  “Aw, that ain’t no problem.  I’ll just turn it to one of the modern stations.  Those singers are bound to be alive. It’s them ones on the classic rock an’ pop stations that are dead.”

Okami swatted at his hand once more.  “That thing is possessed and you will not be turning it on.”

“O.  The radio ain’t possessed,” McCree said, starting to count items off with his fingers.  “The cow mighta’ been, bless its heart, them dogs coulda’ been, bless their souls, that butcher shop was probably a gateway to hell, the gas station was alright I guess, that old man might have been a demon, and that goat we saw was definitely the devil's right-hoofed man, but the radio’s fine, I promise.  Just lemme turn this shit on, O.”

He tried reaching for it again, but this time Okami seized his hand and held him back from the dial.  “You will not.”

“Nah, I think I will.” He briefly struggled with Okami before his arm was slammed back against his seat.  So this is the game they were playing, huh?  A battle of pride between the two of them once more then?  Alright.  McCree could play this game again, except this time he was going to win.

No, you will not.” Okami said once more.

“I’m gonna’.” Okami was trying to hold back his metal arm.  As strong as the man was, he didn’t have a chance of winning this arm wrestling contest against that.  That thing could rip through a sheet of steel, Okami wasn’t going to win.  Judging by that tense look in his eyes, he knew that he was going to lose.  Good.  At least he could start to accept that.

“Don’t,” Okami growled.

“Gonna,” McCree said, his teeth gritted as he wrestled with Okami’s titanium grip.  This was no longer about the radio.  It had become a power struggle, both physically and emotionally.  Unfortunately for Okami, McCree had already lost one too many power struggles today.  He wasn’t keen on losing another.  No more Mr. Nice Guy, not today.  If he had to play dirty to win this, he would.

Okami hissed at him, tightening his grip even further somehow. “Don’t.”

“Can’t stop me.” McCree retorted.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Gonna do it.”

“No.”

“Yup.”

“No.”

“Uh huh.”

“No."

“Light’s green, O,” McCree said, waiting until Okami glanced up at the red light ahead of them, taking full advantage of Okami's safe driving habits, and then swiped at the radio with his free arm.  He smacked the radio on, winning the battle, but accidentally turned the sound up to a hundred and ten percent.  A hokey commercial for a local car dealership blared over the speakers, deafening the truck’s passengers.  

Okami just looked at the radio and sighed, letting go of McCree and reaching over to turn it down to a reasonable level.  Okami had admitted defeat with the gesture.  The win was McCree’s to claim.

“See, I told you there ain’t no evil spirits speaking to us over the radio,” McCree said.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Okami said, pulling forward when the light was actually green.  “Did you hear that abysmal payment for a lease he was talking about?  Five hundred a month and you don’t even own it in the end.  How devilishly wicked.”

“That ain’t the only way you lose in Vegas, sugar,” McCree said, reaching forward to mess with the dials.  A shrill commercial with a loud fella’ trying to swindle folks, his words backed by kazoos, wasn’t exactly the soothing song he needed to hear at the moment.  As he flicked through the stations a familiar tune caught his ears.

_Bright light city gonna set my soul_

_Gonna set my soul on fire._

“Oh, shit!” McCree said happily. “I love this song!”

“Do you?” Okami asked.  “What is it?”

Holding up a finger to ask for silence, McCree sang the next few lines along with the radio, thankfully that his rusty voice still knew how to carry a tune 

_“There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there_

_And they're all livin' devil may care”_

McCree sang, tapping his boot to the beat as he gave Okami a cheeky wink.

_“And I'm just the devil with love to spare_

_Viva Las Vegas, viva Las Vegas!”_

“The song’s about Vegas?” Okami asked quietly.

“Heck yeah, it is.” McCree grinned, drumming his fingers to the beat.  “I love Viva Las Vegas.  Fuckin’ great we get to hear it in Sin City itself.”

“Perhaps they’re contractually obliged to play it often” Okami mused, pulling into the backlot of a closed attraction as McCree sang some more.

_Oh, there's black jack and poker and the roulette wheel_

_A fortune won and lost on ev'ry deal_

_All you need's a strong heart and a nerve of steel_

_Viva Las Vegas, viva Las Vegas!_

McCree looked over at Okami, wondering why he stopped the truck here.  “I think this is a good place to leave the car,” Okami explained quietly, noting his puzzled expression.  The lot was one of the few places that didn’t have an obnoxious neon sign lighting up the night.  Quiet, discreet, and out of sight.

Jesse’s heart fell into his stomach.  Denial wasn’t going to keep working.  The split was coming up.  “So this is where we part, huh?” he asked quietly.

“Not quite yet,” Okami responded.  “The song is still playing and I want to hear it.” He slowly looked over at McCree, face beautifully lit up the neon outside. “Would you sing for me some more?  Your voice is beautiful.”

Taking a moment to breathe, McCree obliged him, doing his best to carry the tune as his world slowly crumbled around him.

_“I'm gonna keep on the run_

_I'm gonna have me some fun_

_If it costs me my very last dime_

_If I wind up broke up well_

_I'll always remember that I had a swingin' time.”_

His voice cracked as he swallowed down his tears, keeping his fears from climbing out of his throat.  The song was winding down as their time together dwindled down to nothing. Why couldn’t it be a longer song?  Why couldn’t the music last forever?

He wasn’t ready for any of this to end.  He never would be.

_“Viva Las Vegas, viva Las Vegas,_

_Viva, viva Las Vegas.”_

The song and he lapsed into silence, finding it easier to stare at his lap then to acknowledge the reality settling in around them, trying to ignore his impending abandonment happening once again.  He hadn’t broken down into tears just yet.  It was a struggle not to.

“Who sings that song?” Okami asked gently.  “I want to hear it again later and it’ll be easier if I know.”

“Elvis,” McCree answered, noting the look of pondering on the upper half of Okami’s face realized he wasn’t familiar with the name.  “Elvis Presley.  The king of rock an’ roll.”

“Ah, a king was he?” Okami mused. “Poor man.”

“Never thought of a king as poor before,” McCree admitted, curious as to what Okami meant.

“The title of king is a heavy one to bear.  Everyone covets your crown and wishes for you to fall. So much is lost in fighting them off only for you to discover that, in the end, your kingdom and all you ruled over were worth absolutely nothing.” Okami murmured.  “At least it is not worth more than all that you were made to sacrifice to keep it.”

The hushed tone that Okami spoke in piqued McCree’s curiosity.  “You sound like you speak from experience.”

Without saying a word, Okami looked at McCree, locking eyes with him.  Forced to stare into the depths of his dark eyes, McCree became aware of just how tired he looked.  Despite the two of them seemed to be close to the same age, Okami’s stare had a heavy weight behind it, his eyes looking far older than they should.  

McCree wondered if his own eyes also had the same old, wise, but tired look that Okami’s had.  Judging by how closely Okami was staring at his face, eyes softening as he looked into McCree’s, it was safe to say that he probably did.  It made sense.  The two of them had both lived through a lot of shit.

“Viva Las Vegas.  Elvis Presley.  Noted.” Okami said as he finally pulled the keys out the ignition, pulling Jesse’s heart in two at the same time.  The purring rumble of the engine faded away, the radio blinked off, and the hustle and bustle of the city outside drifted into the car despite the closed windows.  

Okami unbuckled his seatbelt and Jesse followed suit.  The two of them stayed seated, not saying a word, their quiet breathing the only sound uttered between them.  Jesse finally handed back the borrowed repair kit that had been sitting next to him, and Okami’s fingers brushed against his as he took it back.

Slowly, with what McCree thought was subtle hesitance, Okami reached for his bag, pulling it forward enough that he could pop it open.  After some brief rummaging, he pulled out a handkerchief and a half-empty bottle of water.  He unscrewed the cap on the bottle, wetting the cloth, and then began wiping at the steering wheel, removing any and all trace of his fingerprints.  He wiped down the console seat between them, picked at the keys just to dab them clean, and then rubbed along the seatbelt to his left, finishing his clean sweep by opening the door, stepping outside, and wiping at the door handle behind him.

Stretching over his seat, careful to not touch it, he held the damp cloth out of McCree.  “Would you care to erase your presence here too?”  With a silent nod, McCree took the cloth and then began wiping down everything that he could have touched, finishing up by opening the door and cleaning the inside of it while staying in his seat. Erasing his presence from the car was a smart move, so he took the advice.  Erasing all traces of themselves didn’t erase any of their time together, he reminded himself.  He still have that.  Always.

As he finished cleaning up, Okami had pulled open the back door and donned his bag, walking around the truck to McCree’s side.  Even just turning in his chair and letting his feet dangle out the door was painful, because every move he made was getting them one step closer to splitting up.  The longer he stalled, the longer he could hold on to these last few minutes with him.

Okami was probably annoyed by the hold-up, he thought.  He was efficient like that.  Perfect and efficient.

“Are you alright?” Okami asked him, forcing McCree to meet his eyes as he stood before him.  How long had he been standing there looking at him with those gorgeous, concerned eyes?

No should have been his answer, he wasn’t alright.  McCree gulped, swallowing the words he really wanted to say.  “Just peachy,” he said, a false grin on his face.  All he hoped was that the smile didn’t look as fake as it felt.

A crackle of plastic caught his attention and he noticed that Okami had the small plastic sack from _Gasolinera infernal_ in his hand.  He held the flimsy bag out to McCree.  Jesse just looked up at him in confusion, glancing between him and the bag.

“A gift,” Okami explained.  “For you.” Seeing as how McCree still didn’t take the bag, Okami opened it, pulling out a flimsy paperback book that had a half-naked man and woman in pulled apart western garb on the cover.  “I thought that you might like something to read while you travel.  The selection was sparse, especially of what type of romance I assume you would prefer, time short, and I was scared for my life, so I went with the covers with the least amount of clothing.” Okami held the book out to him.  “You mentioned a preference for westerns.  I only hope you haven’t read the stories yet.”

McCree gently took the surprisingly thick book from him, taking in the majesty of the cover.  A blushing blonde woman wearing an unbuttoned plaid shirt, her huge shoulder boulders just covered enough to be safe for public view and her perky ass making it clear she wasn’t adding to the dude part of this dude ranch.  A man chiseled with a painful looking amount of muscle was pressing her against the inside of a horse’s stall, his lips fastened to her neck.  

It looked like a read that would be right up his alley, except for one small thing.  Western was a reading preference, heterosexual was not.  The author he name-dropped, Bareback, wrote in both of his preferred genres.  That wasn’t the kind of reading that everyone liked, especially not straight men.

Okami probably was straight himself.  He was too beautiful to ever have been an option for McCree, too wonderful for a man like Jesse.  McCree knew how his luck tended to run, and that told him everything he needed to know about Okami’s sexuality.  

Him being just about anything but straight would mean that Jesse would have had a chance.

“Thanks, O.  I’ll probably start reading through it tonight,” McCree said as he put the book down on his lap.  “You pick one up for you?”

“No, not yet,” Okami said.  “I plan to find myself one in a bit.  I want to find that author you mentioned.  There were no books of his back in purgatory.”

McCree’s stomach pitted.  “Not sure he’s your kind of storyteller, O.  Might just want to stick to what you know.” Would the relationship they had be ruined if Okami found out that he was the starring actor in McCree’s newfound dreams?  Probably.  It was in everyone’s best interests if McCree could get Okami to put the surprise homoeroticia out of his mind.

“But I’m _bored_ with what I know, Joker,” Okami told him, taking half a step closer.  “I find myself wanting to try something different.”

“I’m not sure that’s the kind of new a man like yourself would want-” McCree shut up his mouth as Okami placed a finger on his lips.  The man moved even closer, standing between Jesse’s legs, standing so close that Jesse could have kissed him, his hand sliding on to that book on McCree’s lap as his molten gaze bore into Jesse’s.

“You know I don’t like being told what I want.  And I do not like being told no.” His voice was a dangerous murmur, one that raised the hairs on the back of Jesse’s neck. “But I’m willing to forgive it this time, Joker, because I _like_ you.” McCree felt his other hand trail up along the front of his shirt.  “Just do not make that same mistake of assuming what **_I_** **_want_** again.” The hand came to a stop on his cheek, the index finger toying with the mask still tied on his face, sliding underneath and loosening it but never pulling it off.  “Do you understand me?  Yes or no?”

His voice long since gone, all McCree could do was nod his understanding.  His hand tentatively moved to brush against the hand in his lap.  Other than that he was frozen in place, letting himself get lost in those deep pools commanding his attention.

“Now be a friend and read Every. Single. Word. of that book for me, would you?” There was a purr in his voice, a pleased little sound.  His thumb stroked McCree’s lips as he leaned back, starting to move away.  “And, perhaps,” he started to say as he completely pulled himself off McCree, his tone immediately switching from controlling to conversational, “Next time we meet, you and I can discuss our _favorite_ parts-” A mischievous look lit up his eyes as a lithe growl grazed his tone. “Does that sound _pleasurable_ enough to you?”

Sucking in a breath McCree shot a grin back at him, finally breaking the stunned look that had taken over his features.  He looked the man up and down, wondering if he was interpreting everything right.  Lord, he hoped he was. “‘M looking forward to that next time already.”

“As am I.” Okami nodded.  “Before I go…” he paused, and McCree found himself eagerly awaiting what he was going to say.  With Okami, it was hard to tell what would come out of his mouth next.  “...Do you have food for the road?  Water?  Everything you might need?  I have some to spare if you need it.  Please tell me if you do.”

McCree couldn’t help but smile at the honest concern.  “Nah, honey, I got what I need,” McCree replied, looking up and down over the man in front of him once more. “Most of what I need anyway.  Enough to get by for now.”

Okami awkwardly shifted the bag on his shoulder, his right hand tugging at the strap.  His right foot hooked back and rubbed the back of his left.  “Well, I suppose this is goodbye.” Had Okami been trying to stall their parting too?  At least McCree wasn’t the only one not looking forward to splitting up.

“Yeah, I guess-.” For a brief second, a selfish, **_selfish_ ** thought crossed his mind.  His heart pounded as he weighed the idea over.  There were three little words he could utter that could change everything.

_Stay with me._

He could ask Okami to stay.  The man didn’t seem keen on the separation, the two of them were both hesitating and stalling, trying to prolong the last few seconds they had.  If he asked Okami to stay then there was a chance he might.

_Come with me._

They didn't have a destination, but who cared?  The two of them could journey together, stumbling and bumbling together, staying side by side as they wandered around the world.  They could be a team.  The best team that ever was.

_Let’s go together._

Together, they would be unstoppable.  Together, they could make a difference.  Together, they could-

Three other little words tickled his mind.

_Doesn’t need you._

Who was he to demand someone like Okami stay?  Other people probably needed him more, deserved him more.  He had other people to go to.  Why should he stay here?

_He deserves better._

Okami was the cream of the crop, the sharpest tool in the shed, and the eye of a hurricane all rolled up into one.  If he wanted to stay it was because he liked Joker, not Jesse McCree.  Why would he throw away his neat lil’ life in the shadows to be thrust into the sharp glare of a goddamn spotlight on a stage before folks who fancied themselves the judges and juries of their existences?

_He’ll die too._

Everyone McCree was friends with did.

_Give it up._

There was no other choice.  

Anything else he could come up with was just wishful thinking.  They had a plan; drive to Vegas and go their separate ways.  Why make this any harder than he had to?  Why change the plans just to soothe his stupid, selfish, lonely heart?

Why put his heart on the line for it get ripped out of his chest?  Why waste his last bit of pride and throw it away for the inevitable no?  Why bare his hopes for them to be crushed?

Why go for broke, go double or nothing, when he _knew_ that, one way or another, he’d lose it all in the end?  

That was what Vegas did.  Took hopes and dreams of a new life and turned everyone into nothing but sad losers at the end of the day.  He was just another soul the city had crushed, taking his hopes instead of his wallet in a robbery gone wrong.

_Let him go._

He did.  He didn't want to, but he did.  He had to.

_Just say something._

Somehow, he found words to say.  They weren’t the words he wanted to say right now, but they were ones that he needed to.

“Don’t be a stranger, O.” McCree finally replied, looking at the soft concern on Okami’s face.  He must have been watching the mental gymnastics tick across McCree’s features, wondering what was on his mind.

“I don’t plan to be,” Okami stated, the concerned look on his face swiftly returning to the familiar overconfidence that McCree loved.  “We’ll meet again soon, I’m sure.  We have in this past.  This next time should be no different, I would hope.”

Jesse finally slid out of the truck, landing solidly on his feet, finding Okami’s words a soft comfort in this harsh reality.  “Got a destination in mind?”

“I’ve heard rumors of some happenings back in Japan.  I wish to go investigate them for myself eventually." he paused. "Perhaps not yet, though.  I don’t think I’m quite ready to head back there. Not yet.” Okami mused.  “You?”

“Give me a map and a dartboard and then I’ll let you know,” McCree said with a shrug.  The two of them could stall forever.  They could stand here the rest of the night talking about nothing.  

Someone had to put a stop to it, one way or another.  Someone had to rip the bandage of idle chatter away.  

Why did that someone always have to be him?  

They’d meet again, someday, he reminded himself.  They had to.

Fate had to give them at least that much.

“Stay safe, O.  Watch your back out there,” McCree said, giving the man a slight tip of the hat. “Catch you around, partner.”

“You stay safe as well.” Okami slowly said, readjusting his bag one more time.  “May our paths cross again soon.”

He gave McCree one more look over, the sunset sky illuminating the abandoned lot around them with beautiful hues of pink and orange.  The sky behind Okami was on fire, darkening his silhouette into a beautiful shadow.  He stood tall, one hand on his bag’s strap, one tucked into his pocket, watching McCree, waiting.  

The world around them was quiet.  The two men looked at each other, unbeknownst to each other, silently begging the other to speak against their separation. Silently begging each other to be this round’s loser in this battle of pride. Neither one was willing to forfeit the final match of the day, neither willing to gamble what was left of their heart when they couldn't count the cards.  

Pride _was_ the death of their _us_ on this day, splitting their twosome in half and turning their us into a he and a him.

Okami turned away, sparing one quick glance back at McCree before he bowed his head and began this new solo part of his journey.  After he was a few feet away, he called back over his shoulder, his voice echoing around the abandoned parking lot.  “And, Joker?  Before I leave, one last request.”

“Yeah?” McCree called after him.  “What’cha need, O?”

“Do be a friend and let me know if you _ever_ get to be on a centerfold you were bragging about.” Okami’s powerful voice carried on the wind, his tease easily reaching McCree’s reddening ears.

“You bet your bow I will,” McCree yelled back, unable to stop the small half-smile that graced his face as the man walked away, giving him a small over-the-shoulder wave as he walked away towards the unknown. “Anything for you, O.  Anything.”

 _There was still time,_ a voice told him, _he’s still in earshot.  Call him back._

McCree ignored the thoughts as he pulled his bags out of the back of the truck, slinging them over his shoulders.  He slammed the door shut, locking the keys inside the cab.  Reaching up to his face, he finally yanked the sweaty band of cloth off from around his eyes, unmasking himself to the world once more.  

Joker was gone now, as was his mystery and flair.  

All that was left of him was the sad, lonely, wanted criminal of a man known as Jesse McCree.

He gave one last glance back at Okami, the man nearly out of view by this point.  His mind tried to frantically take in all the details that he could, tried to burn what he remembered into his brain.  That wouldn’t be difficult.  He wouldn’t be forgetting the man anytime soon.

Sighing, he tugged at the bags on his shoulders.  He hadn’t been ready to be alone.  Despite knowing that this moment had been coming, he wasn't ready.  The loss of conversation was already starting to set in, leaving McCree alone with his thoughts.  He hated this part.  He hated that a small taste of companionship always left him craving more than he deserved.

He hadn’t been ready to say goodbye.  He never would have been.  The promise Okami made, that they would see each other again soon, that had been the only reason that he had managed to part with the man without breaking down and begging on his knees for someone to just please  _please_ stay with him for a little while longer.  It would have never been long enough.

McCree began walking towards a bus station by the road.  He had places to be and this wasn’t it.  He didn’t know where he wanted to go but he was sure that he’d find a place he wanted to stop along the way.  He just needed to leave this damn city.

He’d love to face the city properly one day.  Today just wasn’t that day.  Viva Las Vegas and all, but he couldn’t _vive la vida de Las Vegas solo_ right now.  He wasn’t sure about anything he wanted to do right now, let alone the big decision of a new destination.

Maybe he’d skirt his way around the world towards Japan.  He had his money burning a hole in his pocket and too much time to kill.  Besides, Genji had told him that it was nice there around this time of year, so why not go check something off his bucket list?  He had nothing better to do.

As he sat on the bench, waiting for the next Bluehound bus to anywhere but here, McCree slung an arm over the back of the seat and pulled his hat low.  That bus couldn’t get here soon enough.  A man alone with his thoughts was in the worst kind of company.  To keep himself from sinking too low so soon, McCree turned his thoughts to the one of the few bright spots he had: Okami.

If there was one thing McCree fancied himself, it was an excellent judge of character.  It was a skill that he had had years to sharpen, and it was one of the things that had kept him alive in Deadlock.  Okami had been a hard one to pin down, especially considering the man hadn’t spoken until a day and a half ago.

Now that they had talked he did have to admit that, unsurprisingly, Okami _was_ right.  Despite what McCree could try to argue, wanted to argue, the man wasn’t exactly _good_.  

He wasn’t.  Neither of them were.  That was just a fact.  

Didn’t change the fact that McCree thought he was pretty damn wonderful.  It was refreshing to meet someone like that out here.  He had a good sense of honor, and a good sense of humor, but that didn’t necessarily make him a good man.  Good men didn’t operate in their line of work, it just wasn’t done.  There was no one that McCree could truly think of as _good_ when they had so much blood on their hands, not Okami, not himself.

But as McCree pondered over the cheeky, cocky nature of the wolf, an earned nature displayed through skill.  He recalled the mischief he could see light up his eyes amid the alluring glances, and how Okami _seemed_ to rebound quickly - whether or not he actually did was up for debate - whenever the conversation turned somber, McCree knew one thing for sure.

Okami was right.

He wasn’t a good man.

But he seemed to be having a hell of a good time being whatever he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, and general feedback are super duper appreciated! <3
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> Edit: Seeing as how everyone loves the goat scene I might as well share the goat's name.  
> His full name is Bandito Juanito, el Chiquito Cabrito. He answers to Bandito or Juanito as well. He is small for his age, fluffy, black and white, full of sass, and demon only in attitude. He loves you too.


	6. Tonal Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yabbadabbadooo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> *Badly written implications of badly written sex. Nothing too descriptive.  
> *Brief vomiting scene. Nothing graphic.  
> *Some easter eggs for funsies. Have fun finding them!

Jesse McCree flung his hotel room’s door open, slammed it shut behind him, dropped his travel bags on the floor, placed his grocery bag on a table, and then took three long strides forward so he could gracefully fall face down on the bed.  

Admittedly, he hadn’t shacked up in the nicest of Iwate’s establishments.  The bed’s mattress was as stiff as a board, but it would do for now.  The pillows were as thin as napkins but he could bulk them up by shoving some shirts under his head.  The no-smoking rule might kill him, but he’d find a place outside to light up if needed.  The road outside his window was noisy, but that was fine.  He wasn’t planning on getting much sleep tonight anyway.

As long as this hole-in-the-wall place had hot water for a shower and decent internet speed, Jesse McCree was set for the night.

Remembering his agenda for the evening, he dragged himself out of the bed, sitting back upright with a groan.  Digging through his saddle bag he pulled out his laptop and its cord, managing to snag a USB stick with his pinkie along the way.

Shuffling over to the table, he scooted the groceries over to make room for his computer, booting it up and plugging it into the wall in one smooth motion.  The laptop’s screen blinked on, a basic sign-in box decorating the screen, with a waterfall in the background this time.  Jesse signed in with his personal password.

_ >> LowPokerSharp_ _

Now, with his identity confirmed, the screen shifted and the backdrop faded to a black page with a scant Overwatch logo overlayed on it.  His credentials teased with the initial sign-in, two boxes popped up asking for his ID number and name.  He obliged them.

_ >>356870N1059378W_ _

_ >>McCree, Jesse_ _

Accepting his number and name, the sign-in screen then demanded his other password, to make sure that the proper agent was signing on to the device, and that someone else hadn’t made off with his details.  His practiced fingers spelled the password out easily.

>> _S21v2UnC262110M0nt2UnV29ue70__

The box disappeared and the computer beeped.  Now that he had met the requirements, his laptop finally let him sign on.  He could change the options, make it so he had to jump through fewer hoops, but he’d rather not take that risk.  Talon had a highly-skilled hacker on their side.  The harder he could make her life, the better.

The Blackwatch logo flashed on-screen, and, after a brief loading screen, he had all the access he needed.  His upper-level clearance, him unofficially being Blackwatch’s second-in-command with all the official access to the files, let him poke through almost everything in the Blackwatch and Overwatch databases.  Luckily, with all the practice he had had, he still knew how to navigate these confusing sites with ease.

He plugged in the USB stick, reaching for a bottle of whiskey out of his grocery bag while he waited for it to sync.  He opened the folder for the USB and double-clicked to run the safeguard.  Now, even though he would be on a semi-public wifi network, his online presence was hidden.  Signing on to the hotel’s wifi took him a few minutes longer than he would have liked, solely because his Japanese was rusty and it took him forever to realize that the characters on the sign-in sheet were telling him not that the password _was_ on the page, but that the password _was_ actually the word password.

Genji would have laughed his ass off if he had seen Jesse struggling, and then would have placed a hand on his shoulder and explained it to Jesse in a way that made it all seem so simple.  Jesse would have then told him how to say it in Spanish, and then Genji would butcher the word a few times until it rolled off his tongue perfectly.  The two of them would have a friendly go at each other and then resume whatever the hell it was they had been doing.

Man, he missed him.

The first thing he did was pull up Athena, the Overwatch database, and key in some names.  He did this every time he had the chance.  He always hoped that something would change for the better.  That maybe, this time, something would be different.  

It never was.

_ >> Amari, Ana_ _

Deceased.

_ >> Morrison, John (Jack)_ _

Deceased.

Those were always the same.  Ana and Jack were dead.  That wasn't going to change, no matter how hard he wished it would.

_ >>Ziegler, Angela_ _

Alive.    
Last known location: Oasis.

Good ol’ Ang.  Probably off saving the world, one person at a time, with that big ol’ bright, hopeful smile plastered on her face.

_ >> Lindholm, Torbjorn_ _

Alive.    
Whereabouts unknown.

Unknown, huh?  That was probably the way he liked it.  He liked sticking his nose into other people’s business, but he didn’t enjoy having others pry into his.

>> _Winston (Scientist)_

Alive.  
Last known location: British Overseas Territory

_ >> Oxton, Lena_ _

Alive.    
Last known location: London.

Tracer was probably back home with her girlfriend, living a happy little life in their cute lil’ flat.  Good.  If anyone deserved the chance at a decent life, it was Lena.  She had already gone through so much with the time-traveling bullshit.

_ >> Reinhardt, Wilhelm_ _

Alive.    
Last known location: Germany.

Reinhardt was probably on a crusade of some kind, keeping himself busy.  McCree could hear Rein’s battle cry, the man rallying up the troops behind him as he shielded them all.

God, he missed him.  

He missed them all so much.

Swallowing thickly, he closed that browser and clicked on the icon for the Blackwatch database, opening up Atropos. He hit the search bar and made his way to the Blackwatch agent database.

_ >> Reyes, Gabriel_ _

The search pulled up Reyes’ profile, with all his information intact.  His picture was a headshot, a slight, barely discernible smirk on his face, and his eyes full of a knowing look.  It was the page he had looked over probably a thousand times now, with a big difference that broke his heart: Gabe’s picture was grayed out.  He was dead.

Jesse knew he was dead, but he always looked again, hoping and praying that everyone had been wrong and that Reyes was still out there living, breathing, kicking ass.  He never was.

Gabriel Reyes was long since dead.

He hated this.  Broke his heart every time he looked at this screen.  Didn’t know why he did it to himself.  Some fucked up hope that it would be different this time, maybe.  Maybe that was why.  A twisted fantasy that this time Reyes would be alive and that Jesse could see him one more time.  It never worked.  It never did.

Killed in an explosion.  That was how Reyes died.  It was what he would have wanted.  He always wanted an exciting death.  Talked so many times about how he could just see the headline of the great Blackwatch commander being found dead on the toilet, keeled over from a combination of stress and the residue chemicals from the Soldier Enhancement Program.  He always figured if it wasn't him that passed that way, it was going to be Jack.  That wasn’t what he wanted.  Wanted something big, something grand.

He got his wish.  

He died in a fiery blaze of glory.  Went out with a bang.  One of the largest bangs in Overwatch’s history, to be exact.  A bang so big that it was the final nail in the coffin for the organization.

It was what he would have wanted.

Was it bad that the thought offered a scant amount of comfort to Jesse, in some fucked-up kind of way?

Unable to stand looking at this page any longer, McCree went back and tried the other agent he cared about.

_ >> Shimada, Genji_ _

In the half second it took for the page to load, McCree’s heart seized up with the thought that Genji’s portrait was going to be gray and that he had died since the last time McCree looked.

It wasn’t, thank God.

Genji was fine, his bio still intact, and, according to the tracker, apparently he was last seen over by Nepal.  That made sense.  He probably stopped by to visit his omnic friend, maybe to catch-up, maybe to get some advice.  Either way, he was fine, and that was all that mattered.

Leaving the agent database, because his heart couldn’t take looking at it any longer, McCree swapped over to the organizations’ combined criminal database.  Blackwatch and Overwatch kept eye on loads of troublemakers, all highly-skilled in their fields.  Overwatch was wary of terrorist potential, while Blackwatch looked to see if they were usable or exploitable before they had to be quashed.

It had been two months since he had last seen Okami, and he wanted to see if he could find the man in the database.  He wasn’t entirely sure what to search, but he’d give it a couple tries and see if anything useful popped up.

**Name?:**

_ >> Okami_ _

No results came up, as McCree expected.  He tried another name.  

_ >> Wolf_ _

A few results this time, one for a Scandinavian hitman, one for a man in Mexico, one for a man that operated in Montana, and one that traveled around Europe.  None of them were who he was looking for.

Head resting on his hand, McCree took a moment to ponder and think if there were any other names that he could try.  One came to mind.  Okami had said that he sometimes went by Lone Wolf.  Maybe that would help.

_ >> Lone Wolf_ _

Nothing.  Damn it.

McCree didn’t know what to think now.  The man was secretive as hell, but he was also a cocky son-of-a-bitch too.  There was no doubt that he’d want to lay claim to at least some of his kills in some way.  Maybe he had, and they just didn’t have him anywhere in the database.

Their database wasn't exactly what a man would call up-to-date.  It would have stopped being worked on manually once the organization fell.  The only way it was updated now was automatically piggy-backing off of what Helix Securities entered into their database.  

Most of Overwatch’s access to other groups’ sensitive information was cut once it fell.  Only Helix’s remained.  

McCree doubted that it was a total oversight on Helix’s part that Overwatch still had access.  He knew who would have been in charge of allowing and denying access.  He doubted their captain would have _mistakenly_ left the link intact.  She didn’t make mistakes.  She made decisions with a purpose.  Just like her mother always had.

Maybe Okami more often worked under a different name, one that wasn’t related to this pseudonym in any manner.  McCree himself had three different ones that he used, Jack, Joel, and Jesse, depending on the situation.  Okami might have a different name he operated under, or he might change names frequently and Okami was just the name of the week.  

If that was the case, then this search session was over, because McCree wasn't in the mood to sit here for the rest of his life, smashing his face into the keyboard, on the off-chance that he could guess the man’s other name, whatever the hell it was.

Wait.  

Hold on.  

That didn’t fit who Okami was, not to McCree.  

He had been Okami every time McCree had run into him.  He didn’t seem like the type to rapidly shed names.  He liked things organized and familiar.  

He had a place for everything in his guitar case.  His jacket looked well-worn and loved, and had a softness that only came with long-term use.  The boots had looked worn too.  The flask was scratched up, obviously through time and use.  He fought with a _bow and arrow_ of all things, a weapon that not many would dare to wield in an age of firearms.  He had a rifle, but he preferred the bow.  A rifle could make his kills easier.  But he preferred the bow and was a master of the anachronistic weapon.  

In a world fueled by advancements, Okami moved forward by staying where he was because perfection couldn’t be improved upon, making the absolute most of his abilities and handily defeating technological progress with a piece of wood and string.

Okami didn’t change to adapt to situations, not drastically.  He made the situations fit him, planning steps ahead to have a fella’ where he wanted them, powering through even when his way was the harder option.  He used methods to make his way work, and he was better than any progress the rest of the world could come up with.

It would be easy to change a mercenary handle to hide.  It would be easy to become someone else every time the heat got turned up under an ass.  Okami never did anything the easy way.  He was too cocky, too set in his ways.  That wasn’t him.

The way he was comfortable was with objects of familiarity: the jacket he had donned despite the heat maybe because he needed to calm down and it worked like a security blanket.  The bow, the arrows, the boots, and even the flask were things he was accustomed to, things he didn’t have to think about, things that if he changed up he’d be forced to notice their differences while in use.  

Part of the reason that he had opened up to McCree was that Jesse had appeared enough times for Okami to grow used to him, get a feel for his personality, find it to his liking, and feel comfortable around him.  McCree had managed to weasel his way into Okami’s comfort zone, no matter how small it was.  

Okami had had to run away from the only life he had known, suffered through even, and leave everything he knew behind to become someone else.  He’d want to keep ahold of a few things that could offer some kind of comfort.  

McCree would know.  He did the exact thing himself when pulled out of Deadlock.  He was doing the same thing now, with the same hat on his head, boots on his feet, and serape on his shoulders that he had worn for years.

Having a million different names that he’d have to think about, remember, pay attention to along with everything else in a fight, didn’t quite fit Okami.  He liked his focus strong, and he liked his comfortable consistencies.  He needed them in a life where everything was always changing.  

And a name was the biggest thing a man had to his, well… name.  

He wouldn’t just throw it away when things got tough, not Okami.  That wasn’t him.  He’d work through it and adapt however he could so that he could keep using it, like the stubborn, cocky, foolhardy man he was.

So maybe that name thing wasn't quite it.

McCree leaned back in his seat, popping open the bottle of whiskey.  All this thinking was making him thirsty.  A drink would do him some good, maybe help him clear things up.  Tilting his head back, he paused mid-pull with a sudden thought.

Maybe Okami was just _that_ good.  Maybe it wasn’t that McCree was searching for the wrong thing.  Maybe there just was nothing about him to find.

It made sense.  The mask was a permanent fixture on his face, one that hid him from facial detection.  Nondescript clothing would prevent him from standing out, the slightly baggy clothes he wore kept his body shape a mystery as he mingled about.  The reason that he had wanted to go to Vegas was so that they two of them could more easily disappear, and disappear he had.  Sharing anything personal had worried him.  He basically ran out of Searchlight not when he thought they were going to be killed, but only after they had “looked at him oddly”.  He had only truly panicked when he realized that they were taking notice of him, and committing him to memory somehow.

McCree sat up slowly as he realized that he had found an answer.  All of those were all traits of a man that was skilled at, and preferred, keeping his existence a secret.

Maybe it wasn’t that Okami worked under different names.

Maybe it was that, to most of the world, Okami didn't exist.

That fit.  That one could be right.  Words traveled through the mercenary grapevine about how different folks were doing, who was up to what, and who was in the area.  Everyone seemed to know something about a somebody and they’d be willing to talk for the low, low price of a drink.  

Not once had McCree heard anyone even breathe about Okami.  No one ever seemed to know anything about him.  McCree knew this, he had been asking around for the last two months.  It seemed to be that if he didn’t want his presence known, then it probably wouldn’t be.

Once again, Okami had defeated another state-of-the-art system with the simplest answer possible.  

How did a fella’ get out of a worldwide database of every noted criminal on the planet?

Simple.  He never let himself get put in.

This search session was over.  There was no point in wasting time with half-assed attempts that he knew weren’t going to work.  Okami was as much a ghost as he was a wolf, and there was only a ghost of a chance of finding him.  

Leaning back in his seat, McCree felt that now was a good time to follow Okami’s _less is more_ approach.  It seemed to work well enough for Okami, maybe life would be kind enough to let it work out him this time too.

How do you find a man that doesn’t exist?

Simple.  You don’t.

You wait for him to find you.

And you best hope you were on his good side when he did.

The good news was that McCree felt confident that he was on Okami’s good side, at least for the time being.  He didn’t seem like the type to suddenly turn on and attack those he seemed close to.  Of course, with a man like Okami, it was hard to tell.

He had a warrior code he followed, and that code seemed to entail him doing whatever he wanted.  Knowing Okami, he probably wrote his own rulebook for life because no one else’s met his standards.  

He was just trying to survive, taking down those he thought necessary to destroy, and absolutely loving the challenge and rush that came with a fight to the death.  He walked a fine gray line between the white and black of right and wrong, keeping a perfect balance and refusing to fall to either side.

Of course, he could just be doing whatever he wanted until he grew bored.  That would make Okami one of the dangerous men that McCree had ever met.  If he walked around deciding who lived and who died based purely on whims, then no one was safe.  Not even him

But that wasn’t Okami.  He wasn’t a threat to McCree.  Okami wouldn’t try to kill him.

Would he?

No.   No, no, no.  Okami wouldn’t.  McCree could trust him.  Okami had a sense of honor.  He wouldn’t shoot McCree in the back without a fair warning.  Not even for an easy kill.

McCree pulled the computer onto his lap as he put his feet up on the table.  He signed out of the databases, closing them, and opened up a browser instead.  He typed in his site’s URL, joelmorricone.wixsite.com/writeemcowboy, and read through the comments, seeing how well-received his last post was.  

Writing had always been soothing for him.  Even when he had physically settled in at Blackwatch, Reyes could tell that he was far from emotionally settling in.  He had Jesse write out things, in whatever language that he wanted, sometimes talking about his feelings, sometimes having him write down his personal thoughts about a mission, sometimes having him detail out how he would run a mission if he was in charge.

Jesse had dismissed it as stupid therapy stuff at first.  Now he could see the appeal.  Sometimes it was easier to write out the words that were hard to say.  Writing was a coping mechanism, one that offered him a small paycheck every now and then now that he had his own site.

That part was fairly new, the whole having his own site thing.  It was nice, though.  When he guest-blogged he had to find a way to appeal to the reader demographic while still making his point, submitting articles in hopes that the site would give him a platform.  Joel Morricone had a nice following nowadays, he had made a small name for himself, and most sites lately were more than happy to pay for his work on their platform.  

Now that he had his own site there was no one he needed to appeal to, no audience to cater to while he tried to persuade them.  His audience was his own.  They knew what they were getting into and they liked it.

Well, they liked Joel at least.  They probably wouldn’t like Jesse all that much.  Not many people did.  Not anymore.

After one quick search about a defunct science lab, to make sure that he was heading the right direction, he x’d out the window and was about to shut the computer down when something caught his notice.  A small exclamation point was sitting in the right corner of the screen.  That hadn’t been there the last time he had booted this thing up.

Mousing over the symbol, McCree clicked it, and a video window popped up.  The loading symbol circled on the screen and McCree tapped his fingers on the keyboard while he waited.  Finally, after a few seconds, the video began to play.

He recognized Winston, the furry friend of his from his Blackwatch days.  The monkey was giving a speech apparently.  Who his audience was supposed to be, though, was not entirely clear.

_“ ..Thirty years ago, the Omnics declared war,” he started._

McCree leaned forward in his seat, eyes scanning the scene in front of him.  He recognized it.  Stood in that room many times before.  Winston was in his lab, back at the Overwatch base in Gibraltar. What was this?  What was Winston doing?

_“We became the greatest champions of peace and progress mankind has ever seen!”_

And look where they got them all.  Champions of peace were all dead, broke, or AWOL.  Champions of peace who couldn’t even have any peace in their own damn lives.

_“..Look, the people decided they were better off without us. They even called us criminals! They tore our family apart. But look around!”_

McCree had his hand on the laptop, ready to shut it down.  He didn’t need to be told this.  Why look around when all he had to look in a mirror and see a criminal that had had his life torn apart by the people he was trying to defend? There was nothing to look around for.  There was nothing new to see.

_“Someone has to do something! WE have to do something!”_

Fuck no he didn't.

He slammed the laptop shut, cutting the video short.  He didn’t need to do anything.  His hands were washed of the situation the minute the world turned their backs on Overwatch.  The only person Jesse McCree needed to watch out for was Jesse McCree.

McCree stood up from the table, whiskey in hand, leaving his laptop plugged in behind him.  It had been awhile since he had been able to charge her up.  Juicing up would be good for her.

He placed his bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, fetched a book out of his bag, and then placed it next to the bottle.  He’d come back and relax after he cleaned up.  Grabbing a change of clothes he made his way over to the bathroom, turning on the shower, stripping while he waited for the water to heat up.

We have to do something?  The only thing McCree was going to do was take a shower and try to wind down enough to get some sleep.

The stream of water grew warm and he stepped under the spray, willing the water to wash his stress away.

_We have to do something._

Pffft.  No, they didn’t.  They had done shit and they were crucified for it the minute things stopped being picture perfect fun fun happy land in the face of a harsh reality.

He rinsed the cheap shampoo through his hair, scrubbing the suds into his scalp and massaging it against his body like a make-do body wash.

Look around?  Why?  It wasn’t as if there would be anything new to see.

There was only so long he could stand being in the shower.  His natural inclination towards conserving his limited resources always made it hard to set aside time to laze about under the spray when he always ended up feeling so guilty about it.  Far sooner than he wanted to, he finished up with his washing and set about to drying himself off.

Champions of peace?  Nothing but champions of broken pieces now.

Still, he missed all of it in a way.  Missed making a difference.  Missed having an impact on the world.

But those days were long gone and they weren’t coming back anytime soon if the rest of the world had its way.  The world may have needed Overwatch, but they didn’t want it.  Why try to play the hero when everyone else wanted you to go away?

And besides, even if Overwatch did come back by some grace of God, then they weren’t going to want to sully up their shiny new organization by bringing in the likes of Jesse McCree.  He was a criminal.  They didn’t need him around.  No one did.

Pulling his clothes on, Jesse made his way back to the bed, flopping onto the mattress with a grunt.  He had forgotten how hard the bed was.  He remembered that fact now.  Ow.

He leaned back against the rickety headboard, trying to get as comfortable as possible.  There wasn’t much comfort to be found.  Not on this bed, not in this room, not in his life.  

He pulled open the book, easily flipping to where he had last left off thanks to a receipt he had jammed between the pages.  The story continued with the front-heavy female sexing up the new farmhand on a row of hay bales.  Kinky.

Clearly, this story was written by someone that had never lain on a dried-out haybale.  Tittany, or whatever her name was, was not resting on a feather bed of hay, no sir, that wasn’t soft nor comfortable and it had no right to be thought of that way.  The dried straws of hay were like dried grass on steroids, dead, crunchy, and itchy as hell.  Not exactly a prime spot for getting down and dirty.

This story was horrible, badly written, and despite seeming to be near the climax of the climax, Jesse was barely halfway through the book.  He was close to calling it quits too.

The guy was apparently fucking the girl so good the author forgot he existed.  So far the only descriptor the man got in this scene was that he had a penis and he had good aim.  McCree found himself skimming over paragraph number three about how the females hooters were the most perfect double d’s to ever boob.  

Did that make them the breast the man had ever seen?  

Would the character descriptors ever be tit for tat or were they just going to be tit for tit for tit for tit?  How titillating.

It was getting hard to take this book seriously.  

The only reason McCree was still reading it was because Okami had asked him to.  That and he was somewhat of a masochist apparently, as he had recently discovered, considering that he was still reading the damn book.

How could this go on for another two hundred plus pages?  Did he have to read all of this just because Okami told him too?  Was there going to be a test?  He hated tests.

The girl was giving her three hundredth breathy moan, cooing into the man’s ear once again.  She cooed so many times that Jesse was surprised to find that she wasn’t actually a dove.

 _Oh… Champion_ , Melony moaned to the man, _ride me like a champion_.

There was a jockey subplot in here somewhere wasn’t there?  The man working on becoming a world-class jockey.  This probably wasn’t a regulated training procedure.  Probably.

_“Champions of peace.”_

Winston, no.  No, no, no, now wasn’t the time.  You didn’t get to be a part of the sex story McCree was reading.  Stay out of it.

Working on pushing the scientist’s speech out of his mind, McCree paused his reading to take a long drink from his bottle of whiskey.  He downed about half of it before he stopped, having to pause so he could breathe.  Breathing was such a mandatory son of a bitch.

Bringing back his focus, McCree resumed his reading of this printed shit on a page, idly wondering what he was doing with his life.

 _Such a bad girl_ , Man grunted, _so bad you’re almost criminal_ -

 _“..Look, the people decided they were better off without us. They even called us_ **_criminals_** _! “_

No.  Winston, no.  No.  Stay out of the sex scene.  Bad monkey.

Loudly sighing, McCree put down the book and grabbed the bottle once again.  Maybe if he kept drinking the story would be good.  Maybe if he kept drinking he’d stop thinking.

That’s all he wanted to do.  Stop thinking.  Just for a little bit. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

In one long pull, McCree finished off the rest of the bottle.  He stood up and walked over to the small table.  Slamming the bottle down on the table, McCree snatched the next bottle out of the grocery bag, the glass clinking against the next three bottles he had ready for consumption.  He made his way back to the bed and angrily laid down, once more forgetting how hard the bed was, tucking in the now-opened bottle next to him as he thrust the book back before his eyes.

 _Ooooh~,_ Boobra moaned, _tear me apart-_

 _“They tore our_ **_family_ ** _apart.”_

No.  Nope.  Not happening.

Winston wasn’t going to guilt this cowboy into wanting to join back into the life he couldn’t have.  He wasn’t allowed to have it.  Don’t tease him about it.  That was just cruel.  Instead of thinking, McCree just went back to his book.

“ _C’mooon, you hunk~,_ Double Deidre moaned, _do something amazing-_

_“Someone has to do **something**!” _

No.  No no no.  No one had to do anything.  The world’d be fucked, but no one had to do nothing.  Especially not him.  He did his time.  He was free and clear of the responsibility.  He was.

McCree took another long drink, wondering just how necessary oxygen actually was.  No, no.  No.  Just drink.  Drink.  No more thinking.

But what if they needed him?  They might need him back there, right?  Would they need him?  They wouldn’t need hi-

Too much thinking.  Too much thinking.  Too much thinking.  You’re drunk, Jesse, but you need to be drunker.  Need to stop thinking.  Thinking hurts.  You hurt when you think.  Drink.  Drink, don’t think.

Too much thinking.  Too much thinking.

McCree began drinking the alcohol once more, suckling at the stiff mouth like a babe on a bottle.  He hungrily sucked down the drink, gasping for air between sips, uncaring about the stray drips that splashed down on him when he pulled away for a quick breath.

He dropped the empty bottle into the bed beside him.  That didn’t work.  He was still thinking.  Except now all he was thinking was that he felt sick.  Dizzy, boozy, whoozy, fuzzy, buzzy, and very very sick.

Too fast.  Too fast.  Slow it down.  Don’t throw up in the bed.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Easy.  There we go.  Slow it down.  Calm.  Calm.  Easy.  Breathe.

Just go back to reading.  Everything will be okay.  Just go back to reading and distractions and everything will be okay once the booze settles down.  Everything will be okay.

 _Oh, baby_ , Hunk-man grunted, _we’ll do something_ -

_“ **WE** have to do **something**!” _

Winston’s voice came through loud and clear.  McCree felt sick.

No.  No.  No.  No.  No.  

No no no no no.

Fuck you.  Fuck you.  Fuck you fuck you fuck you no no no no.  No no.  No, fuck you.  Fuck no.  Fuck you.  Fuck fuck fucking fuck fuck.

Fuck this.

Scrambling off the bed, a hand slapped over his mouth, McCree made a beeline for the bathroom.  He just managed to make it to the toilet before he threw up everything in his stomach.  Gasping, he retched above the toilet bowl, his watering eyes overflowing and sending a small stream down each cheek.

He couldn’t do anything.  Didn’t they understand that?  McCree’s hands were tied by the past.  He couldn’t help the present.  He couldn’t help anyone.  He could barely help himself.  

How the hell was he supposed to help save the world when he couldn’t even save his friends?  What could he possibly do that no one else could?

Why did this message have to come to him?  He couldn’t do anything.  Didn’t they realize that?

Why couldn't they just let him be?  Why break his heart again and again?  What had he done to deserve this?

He was useless.  A deadweight.  He’d just hold them back.  The public hated who he was, even if they had no clue who Jesse McCree really was.  If Overwatch reformed and the public saw that they were hiring wanted criminals to save the world, then they’d turn their backs once more.

He couldn’t go back.  Even if he wanted to, and by golly, he did no matter how much he lied to himself, they couldn’t take him back.  Jesse McCree would just drag them all down.  

He ruined every good thing he touched.  He always did.  Always.

The world needed saving, but they didn’t want to be saved by the likes of him.  They never would.  They never had.  The world only liked him when they hadn’t known he was there, operating anonymously and out of sight.  That was how he was liked.  When they didn’t even know he was there.

There was a nice shiny future out there for people if they managed to find it.  There just wasn’t one for Jesse McCree.  He had trashed his chance long ago.  Jesse McCree was a dead man to the rest of the world.  A very dead man.

His heart was pounding in his chest.  He wanted to go back.  He wanted to go back so bad.  He hadn’t known how badly he wanted it until the offer was dangled in front of his face, like a carrot in front of an ass.

They wouldn’t want him.  They wouldn’t want him to ruin their chance.  He’d ruin their publicity.  Would they say it to his face?  Or would they just wait until it all came crashing down and blame it on him?

He couldn’t go back.  No.  No no no.

You can’t go home again, they said.  And sometimes that was because the home burned to the ground.

Once he was certain that he was done vomiting, he sat back against the wall, breathing, thinking, mourning for the life they were teasing him with.  It was so cruel to offer that chance to someone like him, someone that couldn’t take it.

It was so, so cruel.

So fucking cruel.

How could they be so cruel?...

...How dare they.

How dare they tease him.  How dare they beckon him out of the shadows with the promise of home, only to all but take it away when the public told them to.  How dare they tell him to leave his safe, anonymous, roaming life behind to be hated by the world once more.  

How dare they call him back just so they could ruin his life once more time, taking away everyone he knew and loved one by one.

How fucking dare they.

They had no right to call him back, he thought as he stumbled to his feet, they had no reason to mock him with the offer.  They had all done their time.  None of them should have to go back.  If the people of the world were suffering, that was their fault.  

They wanted Overwatch disbanded, they got their fucking wish.  And now they were on their knees, begging for a savior to come help them.

Too fucking bad.

They thought Jesse McCree fool enough to dance on their whims once more.  

Oh ho ho, they were wrong.  They were so, so wrong.  Jesse McCree ain’t nobody’s puppet.  There ain’t no strings to hold this bitch down, and that’s just how he liked it.

They weren’t going to ruin this life of his too.

He bumbled out of the bathroom and back to the computer, pulling up the database one more time.  He needed that damn monkey’s email.  Winston was going to get a piece of his mind.  Oh boy was he.  Jesse McCree was going to read that ape the riot act of the century.

>> _Wimsnon__

**_No Agent found._ **

Blinking twice, he squinted at the keyboard, trying to make out the letters with his bleary vision.  It was… difficult.  This might take a minute to figure out.

First he had to type good, or pretend he could how, _THEN_ Winston would be getting a piece of his mind, yes.  Yes, he would.  After typining better he would.

_ >>wINOAA__

_ >>WIonsgnk__

_ >>Winsotn__

_ >>Wisnton__

_ >>Chimpston__

_ >>winsTNO__

_ >>WARTORTLE__

_ >WINSONT__

_ >>WINSNOT__

_ >>MOTHERFUKC__

_ >>MONKEY__

_ >>MONEKEYFUKER__

_ >>FUKCGINGMONKYE__

_ >>THATONEFUCKINGMONYEK__

_ >>WONSOTN__

_ >>WIMSNOT__

_ >>WINSTON__

Finally, finally, _finally,_ that damn monkey’s page was pulled up.  It was easy to click the email address in the contact area.  The email window popped up and McCree cracked the knuckles on his right hand before he set to work.

>> _To: winston@OW.blz.org.idk.gov.org_

 _From:_ [ _jmccree@BW.blz.org.idk.gov.org_ ](mailto:JMcCree@BW.org.gov.org) _._

_Fuck you and this whole fucking shitty organization dont knwow hy you fuckers cant just let this horse die and stop kicking it so it can die but ill  have you know what there is not point in bringing back oVerwatch the world donr want us winston.  Why coe back to a woldr that doesnt want us?????  Its a fucking shtty place so why go an save it?????  You wnt us to do smehing?  Hwo about we all jsut go away?  Tahts something isnrt it?  Isnt that wht ould be best? Uck you im guckin drunkand fuckingr wanna come backbut you know whyt i cant you fucking monkey fucker,,,  you knwowhy i cant.  Jeses mcccere wnted man waint exact ythe poster boy you want for fundin an preess now is it?  Dont bother tellin me you don t want me i already knwo ,, i now tehers no room for mccerer on the pedestal htere never has been and there never wil be,,,  you all were the heroes not me,,, iwas jstu a fcking body on the field wiht no porpuse and i still dont ave a pirpose,,,,,,,, i fucking miss everyoneone so ucmh winsnot I miss my faimly winsnot.  I wanan come home,,,, but theres no nne left , i wanna come home so so bad btu yoi all dont need Jeese Mcreee and you nver have needde jeessee mcccre,,, why watse everyones time preternindg othersiwe?_

_a sincer fuk you,_

_Jesesess mcCREE_

By the time McCree hit the send button, he was close to bawling.  They were tears of happiness for telling off the man, he was sure.  Nothing like a good ol’ rebellion to lube up those joyful waterworks, right?

...Right?

He closed the browser back down and was greeted by Winston’s video still paused mid-speech.  Unable to find how to close it, because it must have been sent over the damn urgent link network where nothing could be closed unless finished, he slammed down the spacebar, willing the rest of the video to be short.

_“We can make a difference again! The world needs us now, more than ever!”_

It did, McCree thought as the tears started falling, it really did.  Shame there wasn’t much he could do about it.

_“Are you with me?” Winston finished_

No, Winston.  He couldn’t be.  As much as he wanted to, despite how much he didn’t want to as well, he couldn’t.  Jesse McCree was going to have to sit this one out, just so that those that did go back had a chance.

Finding himself wiped by the sheer anger, McCree just stared at the laptop screen until it blinked black, and then he toddled back towards bed.  He collapsed against the mattress with a choked grunt, finding it as hard as he had forgotten.  Staring at the ceiling, thoughts running through his mind, he found he wanted to stop thinking.  

He shut his eyes, willing his mind to stop.  There were so many whirlwind scenarios looping through his mind and he just wanted it to stop.  

Too fast.  Too fast.  Calm.  Easy.  Breathe.

One, two, breathe.

One, two, breathe.

One, two...

The next thing McCree knew a buzzing sound woke him up.  He shoved himself upright, looking around the room trying to remember where he was.

A hotel room in Japan.  He was in Japan.  He was okay.

Glancing at the clock, McCree saw that he had been asleep for about four hours.  He rubbed at his eyes, getting to his feet, stumbling towards a light glow that was filling the dark room.

The laptop was still on, the screen lighting back up to tell him that he had received a message.  A message.  Why?

Squinting his eyes, the bright screen hurting his head more than his hangover did, he opened up the message.  His breathing sped up as he waited for it to load, his body tense.  The minute it loaded, he stared at the screen, trying to read it

 _To:_ [ _jmccree@BW.blz.org.idk.gov.org_ ](mailto:JMcCree@BW.org.gov.org) _._

 _From:_ [ _winston@OW.blz.org.idk.gov.org_ ](mailto:Winston@OW.blz.org.gov.org)

_Dear Jesse,_

_I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well.  I haven’t heard from many agents yet, you are one of the first few to respond.  On the ball as always, McCree!  And it seems that you’re as spirited as ever!  Haha!_

_If you're worried about your background being an issue, then please don't despair.  Technically speaking, any agent that responds to the recall will be labeled a criminal..  I don't know if you find that exactly comforting, but know that with a label like that, you'll be in good company!_

_You are always more than welcome to come back, Jesse.  We’d love to have you here, back at the base.  It would be an honor to fight by your side once more.  We could really use someone as talented as you watching our backs and helping to lead the charge._ _You have all the time you need to think about this.  There’s no rush, and the door won’t close on this opportunity.  You’re always welcome here._

_If you’d rather not come back, that’s understandable.  It’s your choice and I respect it.  No one will judge if you decide you’re done with the organization.  I can understand why.  Just please know that we would miss you.  There’s always a place for you here.  Always._

_If you choose not to come back, then all I ask is that you keep in touch.  Even if you choose not to become part of Overwatch once more, assuming we even get it back off of the ground, your talents can still help the world.  Besides that, it seems former agents are being targeted and killed.  It would help put my mind at ease if you continued to initiate contact every now and then, just so I know you’re alive.  You’re more than a co-worker to me, Jesse, as is all of Overwatch. I consider you a friend._

_If you don't mind me being so forward, I believe you said something about lacking a purpose?  That was part of Reyes’ teachings, wasn't it?  Finding a purpose and holding on to it, or something along those lines?  (Please forgive me if I've misquoted him)._

_No one can tell you what your purpose should be.  That's something that you have to decide.  You need to “follow your heart” (or rather the limbic system of the brain where emotions are controlled).  If your heart (limbic system) is agreeable about the motive you find, then you will put true effort behind your actions._

_Ponder a bit about what you think you can do to make a difference in someone’s life.  Think where you can make a positive change in the world.  And there you will find purpose._

_And if you find your purpose is not back with Overwatch, then that's okay too.  Only you and your heart (limbic system) know what you need to do and what motivation will move you to put your whole heart (metaphorical, not physical) into your actions._

_Finally, I can't exactly argue about your opinions on the state of the world.  It does need help.  Our help.  Yours, if you’re willing to provide it.  And sometimes it does seem bleak._

_But, if you don't mind, I'd like to close this response with a quote that a very wise man once told me, a saying that I've adopted as my philosophy and the drive for my purpose, especially when all else fails._

**_“Never accept the world as it appears to be. Dare to see it for what it could be.”_ **

**_**_\- Dr. Harold Winston._ ** _ **

_Please take care,_

_Winston_

McCree sat back in the chair, eyes rereading the email.  On his fourth pass through he dared to scroll up and see just what the hell had sent.  He remembered writing something.  He didn’t remember what.

He winced as he read over what he had sent to Winston.  Oh, that was… That was bad.  Drunk Jesse was getting a talking to later.  Hungover Jesse would let Sober Jesse handle it.

All the time he needed, huh?  Good.  He hated rush decisions.  Especially ones that involved him being tired and hungover.  If Winston had demanded a decision while McCree was in this kind of shape he would have turned the monkey down right then and there.  Now, though, he had time to think.

McCree shut the computer down and then went over to his bag and pulled out a half-empty bottle of water.  He downed it in one go, and then went to the bathroom to fill it back up.  Once it was full he returned to the bed, laying down gently on the stiff bed.

Bring back Overwatch?  That was a tall order.  It’d be difficult.  Nothing that would happen overnight.  He’d have plenty of time to think.

The question was, did he want to even be a part of it again at all?

What did he have out here?  Nothing.  He was a nicely dressed hobo, and some would argue the nicely dressed bit.  He had nowhere the live, nowhere he belonged.

If Overwatch came back he could have a home.  He could have a new life, a chance to start over.  A chance to become someone new.  Someone better.

A new life.  

Is that what he wanted?  

Was this life he had now really so bad?  Did he really want to leave everything he had behind?  Even if it wasn’t much, it was still his.

Did he really want to hold out on new possibilities because of one man?

He wasn't sure.  

But at least he had time to think more.  And at least he felt a bit better about everything, even if he still wasn't sure about any of it.  Wasn't going to puke again.  That was a plus.

It only took a few minutes of staring at the ceiling to realize that he wasn’t getting back to sleep right now.  With a sigh, he clicked on the lamp by the bed and picked his book back up.  Might as well try to finish it.

He skimmed over the rest of the sex scene, morbidly curious about how they were going to screw up the happy ending laid perfectly out into two hundred more pages of crap.  

They kissed, they had a cheesy one-liner about their relationship, kissed again, he promised her everything she wanted to hear, kissed again, she cooed affectionately, they kissed again and…

That was it.  The story was over.  There was a neat lil’ “the end” written at the bottom of the page.  The next page upside-down text. A page that also had a “The end” written at the bottom.

Curious, McCree flipped the book over, skimming over the page and seeing names that hadn’t appeared at all in the book.  Peering at the back cover, he read it over.

Okay, uh huh, yeah, it was the back of a book, definitely.  Then a small blurb in the corner caught his eye.

_Bonus story in the back of the book by up and coming author Richard Longpeter._

An extra story?  Alright.  As long as it was better than a tale of two titties, McCree would be happy.

He flipped the book around and opened up the new front cover, finding that story number two’s cover art was right inside.  It was a beautiful piece, with two half-naked men making out on a green, grassy hill, their hands tangled into each other's hair, their lips locked tight, eyes half-lidded in arousal, their hips pressed flush...

Now, **_this_** was more his speed.

 _“The selection was sparse, especially of what type of romance I assume you would prefer._ ”

The book fell into McCree's lap.  If this was the story that Okami had actually bought the book for then McCree might actually find it in himself to forgive him for that first steaming pile of bullshit that he had just read.

Maybe Okami did have some idea of his preferences after all.  He reread the first line, but then stopped to ponder.  If Okami knew his preferences, then was it safe to assume that O had been flirting with him?

_“Next time we meet, you and I can discuss our favorite parts-”_

Was the book a flirtation method? Was he allowed to think that?  Was he allowed to dream?  It fit who Okami was.  It was offbeat, quirky, yet oddly direct.  It could be.  It really could be.

“Well, O, is this you propositioning me for a good time?” he murmured, his smile close to splitting his face in two.  He settled back against the pillows and picked the book up, starting to peruse the majesty that was this Godsent second story.

“Consider it **_done_ **.”

*****

*****

*****

Stupid.  Incompetence.  Imbeciles.  Morons.  Fools.

Fools indeed, Hanzo thought.  All of them were.

“ _Harder.”_

Harder?  Harder would be nice.  Too easy to catch.  Jobs too easy. All of them.  Horrible distractions.  Couldn’t any of these criminals offer him a challenge?  It was like they were on their knees, handing themselves over.

_“More.”_

More wouldn’t help.  It would just be more of the same.  Over and over.

No, he thought while adjusting his position, that wouldn’t help at all.

_“Faster!  Faster!”_

The faster he could get out of here, the better.  He didn't want to be in this country for long, not with the clan gunning for him.  He needed to be quick.  He needed to push in-

_“I’m- I- ah- ah- ah-!”_

\- and pull out.  

And pull out he did as he came with a groan.  The woman beneath him looked up at his masked face through half-lidded eyes, giving a satisfied purr in the afterglow.

Hanzo didn't waste any time.  He sat up as he peeled off the condom and began tying it.  “Money’s on the dresser,” he told her.  “Count it if you wish.”

He stood up and headed to the hotel room’s bathroom while the prostitute got dressed, careful to always keep her in the corner of his vision.  It wouldn't be the first time that he had fucked an assassin in disguise.  He wanted to make sure it wouldn't be his last.

The girl gave him a small bow before she exited the room, money in her pocket.  She had been properly compensated for her time.  Hanzo just wasn't willing to pay for any more of it.  He was done… He hoped.

“Tell me you're _sated,_ " he said to his dragons as he went to lock the door, the sheen of sweat on his lower half starting to chill in the late night air.  “Tell me you are _finally_ satisfied.”

 _“For now.”_ came the reply.  Infuriating little annoyances.

Hanzo picked up his pair of pants off of the floor and headed towards the bathroom once more.  “You’ve asked for much.  Much more than usual at least.  Why?  What is different this time?”

“ _You tell us.”_

He frowned as he turned on the tub’s faucet.  “I do not know what you mean,” he said as he stripped off his shirt, uncovering his mouth with the gesture.  He placed his hand under the stream of water, testing the temperature, finding it not yet quite to satisfaction.

“ _Perhaps we are not the only ones still unsatisfied, still seeking to fulfill a need.”_ they said, _“We affect you, as you affect us; perhaps we aren’t the only ones with a drive for a mate.”_

A drive for a- Are you serious?  That is what you’re implying?” Hanzo asked, giving an annoyed huff as he grabbed a washcloth.  As he held it under the stream, he muttered. “This is all your fault; I bet my brother never had to deal with this.”

 _“Most likely not,_ ” Hidari replied. “ _He only has one dragon.  You have two.  Our needs will affect you twice as strongly._ ”

“ _But only when we need them taken care of.”_ Migi interspersed.   _“We don’t like to bother you that much and we know you don’t like it when we do._ ”

He sighed.  “I know this.  You’ve told me before.  Usually, you don’t overwhelm me with them, which I appreciate.  Just…” he squeezed out the cloth in frustration. “You have been affecting me for far too long.  A week now, at least.  A week of nothing but frustration and feeling pent-up.  A week of catering to your desires and urges.  Surely you must be sated.”

 _“Mostly, yes,”_ Hidari answered.

 _“But we still feel a hunger for more,”_ Migi added.

Hanzo angrily stared up at the ceiling.  “A hunger?  Still?  How?  Why?  What more do you want?  What more do you _need?_ ”

 _“_ **_You_ ** _tell us,”_ they replied quietly.

Frustrated, he chose to ignore them.  If they were going to be uncooperative, then he wasn’t going to indulge their attention-seeking.  He’d wait until they decided to be helpful to pay them any mind.  He instead began scrubbing at his torso with the cloth, focusing at cleaning up and ignoring their prattling bait.

You tell us, they demanded?

Tell them what?  What did they want to hear?  What did he have to say?

This had nothing to do with him.  This wasn’t his fault.

He angrily scrubbed at his legs.  Yes, admittedly, he was annoyed at himself.  He had seen how longingly Joker was looking him over.  He should have used that.  The man would have said anything, answered anything asked, but Hanzo hadn’t asked for anything.  Should have asked for his name.  

Too cocky.  Should have asked.

He assumed the man would be easy to find again.  He always had been in the past.  Hanzo had never struggled this much before.  He never struggled.  Why was this time any different?

His legs red from the deserved rough scrubbing, he moved up to his arms, washing there next.  Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, he could scrub this damn tattoo off too.

Where the hell could Joker be?  He hadn't been on any of the jobs that Hanzo had found. It made no sense.  He should have been there.

All Hanzo had found were morons.  Fools.  Imbeciles.  All of them.  There was no competency to be found anywhere.  The jobs he found were laughable, both in task and in company, and he had dumped more than half of the jobs he had found.  Why waste time there if there was no one worth spending it with?

He rinsed the cloth off under the stream of water washed his face next.  The bounties he had cashed were supposed to provide a challenge.  A distraction.  They had not.  Nothing had.

How the hell these men had bounties so high was beyond him.  They were simple to catch.  Too simple.  All he wanted was a challenge.  Was that really too much to ask?

Throwing the cloth into the tub, he bent over the edge of the tub, rinsing his hair under the flow of water.  

Bounties weren't the reason he was here, though.  He had a situation to handle.  There was no more time to waste, no more time to stall.  No more time to avoid traveling to Hanamura.  Get in, fix their ineptitude somehow, and then get out.  There were no more delays to be had.

He blindly groped for the small bottle of shampoo, squeezing the liquid soap over the back of his head.  He massaged it in, making quick but efficient work of his cleaning.  After he finished rinsing his hair out, he pulled on his pants, grabbed a towel and started drying his hair.  As he walked back out to the bed, a generic, piercing ringtone began to play.

Fishing around in his bag he pulled out a cheap phone.  He flicked it open and stared at the number, trying to remember if he knew it or not.  It was familiar enough that he answered the call if only to satisfy his curiosity about who would ever call him.

“Hanzo?” a familiar but grating voice said in Japanese.  He remained quiet as he tried to determine who was speaking to him.  It took a moment for him to place it, but only a moment.

“What is it?” he asked, skipping any pleasantries.  This man was just an informant that Hanzo knew.  If he was calling, it wasn’t to say hello.  It was because he had a job he thought Hanzo might like and he wanted the finder’s fee once Hanzo inevitably completed the task.

“Got a big one for you.”

He let the towel fall on his shoulders.  “How big?”

“Big enough that I want to meet you in person.  Not over the phone,” he said. “  You are still in Iwate, right?  I do not want anyone else to take this.  Needs to be quick.  Hot one.  You in or out?”

He knew Hanzo was in Iwate?  Interesting.  Good to note.  He wouldn’t sell him out to the clan without warning Hanzo, so there was no worry about that.  He liked the money he made repeatedly informing the clan of his presence, quite the pretty penny, and Hanzo was a willing player in his long con if only to keep another avenue of information open.

“I’m interested.  Where do you want to meet?” Hanzo asked, returning to drying his hair.

“The Jiginguponī bar.  You know where that is?”

Hanzo hummed in thought, finally remembering the aforementioned bar.  “I believe so.”

“Meet me there in half an hour.” the voice said, the person then hanging up on him.

Putting the phone down, Hanzo resumed his toweling off.  How big a fish had he found?  If it was a hot one, that meant that there could be multiple hunters after whatever it was.

What a challenge it would be.  If the bounty itself wasn't worth the effort, then getting through however many others would more than make up for it.

How intriguing.  He had to see what this was about, if only for a distraction.

In fifteen minutes he was dressed, mostly dry, and heading towards the bar on foot.  There was a chill in the night air, normal for the season, but it made him glad that he had a mask on but made him regret stepping out the door with damp hair.  At least his black coat was as warm as always.

He had a quiver of arrows on his back, in a small hiking pack for ease of transportation.  There weren't many people out at this hour, none sober enough to notice him and be concerned about the weapons, and he planned to stick to the shadows regardless.  He wasn’t attending this meeting unarmed.  That was out of the question.

He made it to the bar five minutes prior to their meeting time, hustling through the back alleys and shortcuts he knew to make it on time.  Standing before the bar, he pushed open the thick wooden door and peered into the poorly lit room.  It was a brief walk to the back of the bar, back to the private rooms in the back, ones that Hanzo had visited before for other meetings just like this.

Stepping into the room, he saw his informant already seated in a taller chair, leaving only the bench for Hanzo.  It was at this point that Hanzo determined the game he was playing. He had made Hanzo rush to be punctual, demanding his presence in the pre-dawn hours, and he had arrived early to claim the taller seat.  This was a boarish power play of manipulation, one that he was using to try to get the upper hand despite coming alone.  This would not stand.

“Hanzo, please have a seat.” The informant said as soon as Hanzo shut the door behind him, gesturing to the low, wide-seated bench on the other side of the table.  Hanzo was not amused.

He strode over to the table, yanking down his mask in one swift motion, if only to help remind the man who he was dealing with, then crossing his arms as he looked down at the man.  “I’d prefer to stand.”  This situation may not stand, but Hanzo would.

“Is this not a civilized meeting?  Surely you still remember your manners?” the man asked, gesturing once more.  “Take a seat.”

How dare he.  No one ordered him around.  No one.

Hanzo used his foot to flip the bench on its side, then stepped up onto the thin side of the seat, balancing perfectly on the wobbly piece of furniture.  His eyes bored into the other man’s as he towered higher than before, standing as still as a statue. “Seat taken.”

“...Ah.” The man said, shrinking back under Hanzo’s stare.  “Well, um, let's get right to it.”

“Let's.” Hanzo prompted, his tone one full of annoyance.  “What it is you want?”

“You still hunt for bounties, yes?” he asked, receiving a nod in reply.  “I have a heard of a huge target moving through the area.  One that they prefer to be dead, over being turned in.  D-e-a-d.  Dead.”

“Who?” Hanzo barked.  He wasn't in the mood to waste time or play games.  All he wanted was the information necessary to determine if he wanted this job or not.

“A man by the name of McCree,” he replied. “Jesse McCree.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Hanzo couldn't recall if he knew the face behind it.  He had probably seen posters in the past but had been too busy with other tasks to pay them any mind.  If taking this job had never struck his fancy before, why should it now?  Just how big a job could this even be?

“How much is he?” Hanzo asked impatiently.

“At last count?” the informant said. “Sixty.”

“Sixty thousand?” Hanzo asked, unimpressed.  That was near child's play to him.  The highest he would catch recently, but still nothing impressive.  He had done better, harder jobs many times before.

“No no no,” the informant said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Sixty _million dollars_.”

As stone-faced as Hanzo was trying to play, even he gave a flinch of excitement at the number.  He had never bagged anyone with a bounty that high.  He assumed that was only because he had never tried.  It was probably a task he could manage with ease.

“Sixty million?” Hanzo repeated.  He could do a lot with that kind of money.  Travel wherever he wished, take a break from the mercenary life, the possibilities were endless.

It was tempting.  Very tempting.  It all depended on the type of man they wanted killed.  If the world would be better off without him than Hanzo might as well be rewarded for his work.

“Do you have his picture?  His poster at least?”  Surely someone that high a profile hadn't slipped his mind completely.  The name felt so familiar.  Why?

“Got a picture of his poster, yes,” he said, digging in his pocket.  As he searched for the piece of paper, apparently struggling to find it, Hanzo grew bored, busying himself by lighting up a cigarette as he waited, if only to calm himself.  A sixty million dollar bounty.  How thrilling.

“Ah, here it is!” he said, holding out a wrinkled photograph to Hanzo, keeping it just short of his reach, forcing Hanzo to maneuver for it. “You can see the bounty on the top.”

“The bounty itself was never my question,” Hanzo said, slamming a foot down on to the table as he was forced to reach for the photo, placing his booted foot just short of the man’s fingers.  The point seemed to be made; any manipulation was not tolerated.  He leaned on his front knee, resting an arm on it while he looked at the picture.

It was blurry.  Too blurry to make out any details on the poster save for the bounty on top.  The man in the poster was nothing but inked scribblings.  There was no definitive detail at all, nothing to help answer any questions that Hanzo might have had about what this man looked like.  It would be difficult to hunt him using this picture alone unless the man was actually a living pile of pixels.

“Tell me,” Hanzo said.  “Did you by chance have a Polaroid camera installed into your eyes?” Confused, the man shook his head, So Hanzo continued, “Because this picture quality looks as if you shat it out your ass.”

The man gave a forced laugh and averted his eyes.  “I am afraid that is all I could manage to get.  McCree is in the habit of tearing down his posters when he sees them.  Intact ones are somewhat rare.  This picture is all I was given.”

“Hmm.” Hanzo offered an uncontented hum as a reply.  It was a fair point, if true, but he refused to concede it as such.  “How many others are in pursuit?  Do you know?”

“Fourteen if you get involved,” he replied.  “Six of them being the Red Monkey gang.”

That caught Hanzo’s interest.  The Red Monkey gang was small but efficient, working together with dangerous fluidity, more than making up for their small numbers. But more importantly, “How?  All members of the gang were being held in a Helix security facility.” Hanzo said.

“Yes.” he nodded. “But they got them out.”

“ _They_ got them out? Who’s ‘they’?  They people who want him dead, ‘they’?” Hanzo asked.  High-security inmates being broken out of government facilities for this job.  Just what would he be up against here?  Who wanted this man dead?

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t told,” he replied.  “I don’t ask for necessary details I don’t need.  Don’t like wasting time.  They got them out.  That’s all I know.”

“Hmm.” Hanzo gave another small hum.  Not getting answers was annoying, but he was sure there was more at play than his informant stiffing him.

Something about this situation just felt... off in a way.  He wasn’t sure how yet.  That was also annoying.

“Listen, Hanzo, I can tell you’re indecisive.” The informant said as he began digging in his pockets once more. “But if I can’t convince you monetarily, then let me appeal to your morals.”

He pulled out his phone and lay it flat on the table, making sure that Hanzo could see what he was doing.  An article popped up on the screen from the looks of it.  Once it loaded, the informant began reading the headline.

“ _OUTLAW JESSE MCCREE HAS LAUNCHED A RAID ON A HYPERTRAIN.”_ he read, “ _THE FUGITIVE IS WANTED FOR MURDER, THEFT, AND-”_

“He launched an assault on a commuter train?” Hanzo interrupted, reading the story for himself despite the article being upside-down.  “Why?”

“He and a band of other troublemakers jumped it for the pocket change is the theory.  Rumor says there was something good in the caboose.  Stories differ depending on who you ask and what you read.” he said with a shrug.  “The one consistent is that there were at least ten corpses on that train when it hit the station.”

Hanzo shifted upright in shock. “He murdered passengers in cold blood?”

“Them or his comrades in the raid,” he said as he put his phone back in his pocket.  “Again, depends on who you ask.”

A red-hot fury beginning to seethe in Hanzo's gut.  What sort of lowlife would murder innocent passengers?  What sort of fiend would murder his own brother in ar- coworkers- family-

...Ah, um… Anyway...  

How dare he!

“Does he has a reputation for these sort of attacks?” Hanzo asked.

The informant shrugged.  “Well, a sixty million bounty has to come from somewhere, don’t you think?”

“Hhn.” Hanzo leaned back down against his bent leg, processing everything he had just been told.  This McCree sounded like a decent target.  A good paycheck, a good fight, and a good villain to be taken out.  Something still wasn’t sitting right.  He wasn’t sure what.

“I know you have other contacts.  Why share this information with me?” Hanzo asked.  The more questions he could get answered, and the more information he could get, the better he would feel… He hoped.

“Because I actually want to be decently paid for my time?” the informant replied.  “I get a cut whenever any of you bag the target.  You’re the only one good enough to even think about taking on a six-seven oh.  This is a top-notch bag, so I went straight to the top bagger, you know? You kill people and you're good at it. It's what you do.”

“How much of a cut do you want?”

“A third,” he replied brazenly.  

Hanzo tried to not laugh in the man’s face.  He failed.  “A third?  For yapping your mouth and providing me with bare minimum information?” Hanzo scoffed.  “You may get a tenth if I’m feeling generous. I doubt that the case.”

“I’d take a tenth,” he said quickly.  

“I’m sure you would,” Hanzo said.  “I might look into this bounty.  Where is he?  Do you know?”

“Rumor says he’s in town right now, passing through.  There’s going to be a fuckton of mercenaries on his back soon,” he said.  “I hear he dresses like a goddamn cowboy, and he talks like an American, so he should be pretty easy to spot in a crowd if you look-  Should be easy for someone like you-”

“I am undecided about even taking on the bounty, though.  I make no promise of you getting your money for I might not take the job.” Hanzo replied, straightening back up.

The informant bolted upright.  “Oh no you don’t.  I know this game.  You say you're not taking my information after you take my information and then you just so _happen_ to find him on your own.” The informant hissed, “Don’t you play this game here, Hanzo.”

“I’m not playing any game.  I never do, and you know this.  I am merely undecided.” Hanzo scoffed. “If I pursue this kill, you will get your money, I promise.  On my honor.”

The informant snorted.  “I didn’t even realize you had any of that _left_.”

At the sound of his stupid, incompetent, moronic, foolish, and utterly imbecile words, Hanzo’s hands curled into fists and his teeth clamped down on his cigarette.  

What flagrant disrespect.  It would have to be punished swiftly to curtail this belligerent behavior of utter disrespect.  Perhaps Hanzo had been too kind and let this type of retort go unchecked for too long.  That ended now.

He spat his cigarette out of his mouth, letting it fall towards the man’s hands.  Swinging his other leg up onto the table, he slammed his foot down on the outstretched hand, crushing the burning ashes into the man’s flesh before he even realized the cigarette had come into contact with his skin.

The man realized what he had said, what he had done, and tried to pull away.  His movement was limited by his trapped hand, and Hanzo had no trouble crushing the other hand under his other foot.  He reached back into his quiver and pulled out an arrow, rolling the weapon between his fingers.

Having trapped the man where he wanted him, Hanzo stared down at the pitiful excuse for a human being.  “I believe the offer’s changed slightly, though I'm sure you'll still think of me as far too generous,” Hanzo replied casually, crouching down to the man's eye level and savoring the soft crunching of bones he felt under the soles of his boots. “I give you a choice.  Walk out of here and stay a broke fool in one piece, or take the ten percent you desire and I cut out that insolent tongue before you leave.”

The man looked down in horror, quietly shaking his head.  “I want to stay in one piece.  I’ll be a broke fool. P-please...” He responded quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, how _positively_ boring.  Fitting, though.  A dull choice for a dull man, one too dim to even keep his mouth shut.” Hanzo chuckled, holding the tip of the arrow under the man’s chin and forcing him to look up, lest he be stabbed.  His mock friendly tone soon dipped down into a dangerous growl. “ _Never_ forget who you are speaking to, boy.  I was the heir to a yakuza empire.  If you have forgotten that fact, I will not hesitate to remind you.  Are we clear?”

We're clear!  We're clear!” he frantically nodded, fighting to pull his hands free.  He was unsuccessful, forced to sit there and beg for his life.  Good.  He deserved to suffer.  A fitting punishment for that loose tongue.  

Cutting it out would have been a more memorable punishment, but he still needed him to be able to speak the information he found.  One transgression of this sort should not destroy a life.  He was a better man than that now.  All he wanted to give this man a lesson he would not soon forget.

“Do not trifle with me again, or you will be sure to regret it,” Hanzo said as he stood up, pulling the arrow away and taking his time stepping off of the man’s hands.  There was an angry red burn from the cigarette that even Hanzo felt a twinge of guilt over.  “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.  This meeting is now over.”

The man wasted no time bolting for the door, not even sparing a single glance back.  Hanzo stepped carefully off of the table, taking a moment to right the bench before he left the room.  He quietly made his way to the bartender, ignoring the few curious stares sent his way, from people wondering what had happened back in the room.

He wanted a drink, but he didn't want to sit and have one here.  The chance of curiosity turning to inquisition was too high.  A face to face conversation could lead someone to identifying him and starting a hunt afresh.

Instead, he bought a bottle here, paying a higher price in lieu of having to flash his I.D. at a legitimate alcohol shop.  The transaction was near silent, with Hanzo only muttering the name of the sake he wanted, clearly not in the mood for conversation, a fact the bartender picked up on. He tipped for the reciprocation of silence.  It was much appreciated after the idiocy he had had to quash.

After he had the drink in hand, Hanzo returned to his room the same way he left it; stealthily and efficiently.  Once back in his room, he put his bag down by his bed, popped open the bottle of sake, and began thinking about the information he had been given.

Sixty million dollars was a _lot_ of money.

With that kind of money, he could buy himself a new life.  He could go somewhere far away, somewhere that had never heard his name, and establish a quiet life there.  Buy a small home, take a new name, escape this life and its horrid memories forever.  He could take the time to learn new skills, get a new career, become the person he always wished he could be.

And all it would cost to get it was more blood on his hands.  All it would cost was one more life taken by him.

What a high price to pay.

How dare the price be so high to a freedom that could taste so sweet.

He put the bottle on the bedside table and began untying his boots.  There were things he, unfortunately, should take care of, some of them tonight, but he was too distracted debating the new situation to even think of starting them.

He wasn't too keen on murdering someone, not unless it had the be done in self-defense, he detested that part of the job.  But if this McCree was a murderer, would his death be justified?  Was that his call to make?

And then there was the money to think about.  Would starting a new life be worth the cost of taking someone else’s?  If this man was as horrible as he seemed to be, then all signs were pointing to yes.

Did he want more blood on his hands, though?  With all the blood already staining him, did adding on to it even matter?

And did he really want to leave _everyone_ and _everything_ behind him?  He could run far away from this life and never look back, but… Would it truly be worth it?

If job went perfectly he could have himself a home.  He could have a new life, a chance to start over.  A chance to become someone new.  Someone better.

A new life.  

Is that what he wanted?  

Was this life he had now really so bad?  Did he really want to leave everything he had behind?  Even if it wasn’t much, it was still his.

Did he really want to hold out on new possibilities because of one man?

He was never going to find redemption if he stayed on this path.  There wasn’t much to be had, not in the shadows among thieves and murderers, with only a scant shining star to light his way through the dark.  Starting a new life could be the only way he managed to reclaim his honor.  Besides, he was already a horrible person, a murderer, a slayer of kin, what would one more death do?

It wasn’t as if he could get any worse.  

Not when he was already as bad as they come.  He had already been tested on his morals and he had failed abysmally.  He was a horrible, weak, _weak_ person.  One more death on the pile would hardly make him that much worse...

Right?

He slid his shoes off and lay down on the bed, resting his head on the pillow as he pondered.  His dragons appeared, curling up on the pillow next to him, pressing up against him with their small bodies.

 _“You’re wrong, Hanzo,”_ Hidari whispered to him.

Migi nuzzled against his face.   _“You need to give yourself more credit.”_

“ _You’re much stronger than you think._ ” Hidari continued. _“You always have been.  You always will be.”_

_“Just look in a mirror, Hanzo.”_

_“And you will see the strongest man we know looking back.  Even if he thinks himself nothing but a failure.”_

_“Life is not a test to pass and fail in one attempt.”_ Migi reminded him.

 _“It never has been, it never will be,"_  Hidari added. " _Despite what you’ve always been told.”_

_“Just because you struggle with one section does not mean that you fail everything after.”_

_“To be tested and to fail can drive a man mad,”_ Hidari admitted.

_“But to never learn from your mistakes is the true mark of insanity.”_

_“You have learned from your mistakes.  You are becoming a better person.”_

_“So you think you failed the test placed before you back in Hanamura.”_

_“And you did.”_

_“But you’re earning enough credit to garner a passing grade.”_

_“And next time this test arises, and your character is tested.”_

Migi continued in reassurance. _“You will know what to do.  You will know how to act.”_

_“You are seeking redemption and honor.”_

_“And you are beginning to find it and reclaim it as your own.”_

_“You’re not a good person, not yet,”_ Hidari said.

Migi finished.  “ _But you’re certainly not as bad as you think.”_

Their voices fell silent as they surmised their thoughts and feelings, allowing Hanzo the time and silence to come to his own conclusion.  They could see how much this new decision was weighing on his mind.  Even they had the sense to let him decide this for himself.  It would affect all of their lives, but it would affect him the most. He was the one to be playing judge and jury and deciding if this Jesse McCree lived or died.

Hanzo lay, mulling their words, idly reaching up to stroke his fingers along their bodies.  His destiny lie with this man; he could feel it.  This encounter was meant to either make or break him, and no one ever broke Hanzo.  No one.  He had to take the job, lest he be left wondering what could have been.  The offer was on the table for Hanzo, tempting and teasing with possibilities unknown.  He had to give this job a try.  This could be a scouting mission on the other mercenaries if nothing else, though he already knew he was too competitive to stay on the sidelines.  Destiny was calling him, he could feel it.

His decision made, he sighed as he sat up, ignoring the hushed grumblings of the two dragons.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, walking towards his guitar suitcase.  He opened it, snatching his armor, stripping off his coat, and getting geared up in his mercenary wear.  The armor cinched tightly to his body, conforming perfectly and locking him into the stiff pieces.  He hated it.

“ _What are you doing, Hanzo?”_ Hidari sighed, starting to stand.  “ _Why are you changing?  That is not your outfit for sleeping._ ”

Hanzo ignored them, putting his coat on over the rest of his clothes.  It was a cold night and bound to be a long one.  He had much scouting to do, especially if he was to be one of the first to find this man. This was a late start compared to the others.

If all went according to plan, and Hanzo’s plans rarely failed, Jesse McCree was a dead man.  A very dead man.  If not by Hanzo's hands, then by someone else's.  One way or another, he had to get involved.  He had been given this information for a reason; Fate beckoned him to answer its call.

“ _Where are you going?  Are you going to go find McCree man?_ ” Migi asked, getting to her feet as well.  " _Are you going to kill him?"_

“That is undecided.  What I am going to do is locatehim and then decide if I am meant to take the shot.  Finding him should be easy.  Very easy. In fact...” Hanzo haughtily repeated as he headed for the door, his two dragons hastily shifting to catch up with him.

“Consider it **_done_** _."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags added:  
> *Winston  
> *Mid-Recall
> 
> This coming section was one of the first fully fleshed out for the story, and I am beyond excited to share it...Its just got a ways to go right now in terms of words on paper and not just in my head.
> 
> Kudos and comments are super appreciated! <3
> 
> Have a Merry Christmas and a happy new year!
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami


	7. Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skin against skin, blood and bone 
> 
> You're all by yourself, but you're not alone 
> 
> You wanted in and now you're here 
> 
> Driven by hate, consumed by fear 
> 
> Let the bodies hit the floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> *Deaths. Multiple. Not much detail given, though there is some.

Jesse McCree knew he was in for a helluva bad day when he had to detain two assassins before he had even had a chance to think about breakfast.  

He had been busy debating if his fermented grain mash in a bottle counted as being food or if he should just go buy something more solid when he heard the sound of his door being slowly unlocked from the outside.  Considering room service didn’t usually break into rooms, especially not at five in the morning, and there wasn’t any kind of knock, he assumed this wasn’t some nice ol’ lady here to clean his sheets.  

With a quiet sigh, he grabbed his gun and silently walked to the door, positioning himself to be hidden behind it when it opened. Considering how stealthy the intruders were being, he was fairly certain that they weren’t gonna slam the door open, not if they were trying to catch him sleeping.  Joke’s on them, though.  He hadn’t slept well in days, flirting with insomnia while his restless brain was knocked around with too much thinking.

With his silent steps keeping his presence hidden, he was certainly glad he hadn’t put on his boots yet.  Without them, his steps were light and there were no spurs to jingle jangle a tune as he crossed the room.  

Not that he didn’t like his spurs and boots, no sir.  He loved them.  The boots he had bought for himself a couple years back, finally needing to replace the pair he had bought with one of his first Blackwatch paychecks after even a good resoling couldn’t save ‘em, and he had been given the spurs he wore by Ana after inadvertently sneaking up on Gabriel one too many times.  Wasn’t his fault that Gabe had been too busy pouring over a layout or a schematic of a plan to ever see Jesse coming.  Wasn’t his fault that Gabe kept spilling his coffee onto tables when he was startled.  It hadn’t ever been on purpose; it was just how Jesse walked.  And who could blame Jesse for walking as silent as a ghost when it had probably saved his life ten times over by keeping attention off himself and letting him stay in the shadows back at Deadlock.

 **_This_ ** right here was probably also gonna be one of those lifesaving times.

The door slowly swung open and stopping just short of hitting Jesse.  Two shadowy figures stepped inside the room, one holding a knife and some rope, the other a gun.  The walked silently towards his bed and coordinated an attack on his bumpy blanket, a pillow tucked under the folded comforter doing a convincing interpretation of a human body.  Never had Jesse thought that being a pillow-cuddler would save his life.

While they lunged at his bed, Jesse crept up behind them, swinging his gun around in his hand so that he was holding the barrel.  Killing them would be easy, but he wanted information.  He needed them alive for that.

Bracing himself, he swung his arm down, cracking the handle of the gun against one intruder’s head.  At the same time, he took hold of the other’s head with his prosthetic arm, immediately smashing his face into the wooden bed frame.

They both went limp from the impacts and he wasted no time in tying them up tight with their own rope to the stiff lil’ chairs from the table.  When they finally awoke, McCree was sitting on the side of the bed, with an unbuttoned shirt thrown on over his underclothes to help chase off the early morning chill.

“Howdy,” he said as cordially as his tired self could, giving them a moment to realize their situation.  “M’guessin’ y’all ain’t got no continental breakfast wheely cart out in them there hall for my lil’ ol’ lonesome, d’ya?  Damn.”

“ _What is he saying??”_ the older man asked in Japanese.  “ _Is he having a stroke?  Or is he drunk?”_

“ _He’s an_ **_American_ ** _.”_ The younger man explained in like. “ _Half of their words aren’t even real.”_

 _“So that_ **_is_ ** _a legitimate attempt at communication?”_ the older one said. _“...And yet they still reached the moon before we did?”_

The younger one shrugged as best he could in his restraints.   _“Even a monkey can write Shakespeare every once in a while.”_

“Hey, hey, hey.  Y’all wanted to chat to each other y’all could’ve dun it ‘fore you fingered my lock.” McCree interrupted, pausing to stifle a yawn.  “Now shut your zippin’ lippin’ ‘fore I get mad, aight?”

With a quiet grumble, both men shut up, glaring at McCree from their bound position.  S’alright, though.  Ain’t like he’s never had a stinkeye sent his way before.

“Now, I know y’all are here to kill me, an’ I can guess the why; I'm assumin’ it’s about the payout,” he said, looking them up and down, “I’ll keep this short, an’ maybe let y’all go on good behavior if you cooperate.  Who sent you to kill me?”

The two men glanced at each other, silently communicating and deciding what they should say.  “No...No English.” the older one said hesitantly before conversing in Japanese with his buddy. “ _What do we tell him?  We didn’t plan for this.”_

 _“Well, considering that he’s not supposed to be_ **_alive_ ** _I’m not surprised that we didn’t_ **_plan_ ** _for this.”_ The younger one retorted.

The elder shook his head.  “ _The bounty’s not worth this humiliation.”_

 _“Are you crazy?  I would do anything for sixty million dollars.”_ The younger hissed. “ _I'd even kill_ **_you_ ** _for it.  Now think how to get us out of this!”_

 _“Why?  So you can kill me once we're done.”_ the elder growled.   _“That’s what you were planning, wasn’t it?  Have me help you kill him and then you kill me before we split the money.”_

 _“No…”_ The younger one replied slowly.  Too slowly. “ _That’s not at all what I was-”_

 _“_ Yup.  He’s gonna betray you.” McCree interjected, seeing a forming fissure begging to be widened.  “Lemme guess?  He suggested a temporary alliance of some kind?”

“Yes…” the older man responded, using English this time, forgetting to keep up the guise of a monolingual individual.

“Something like ‘together we can take him down’ or ‘we can’t fight him alone’?”

“Yes…” he said again, slowly turning to look his nervous companion in the eyes.  The younger man averted his gaze, eyes dipping south before he returned to glaring at McCree.

“Yeah, I’ve seen that happen a million times before.  He was gonna betray you, one hundred percent.” McCree finished, casually stretching his arms out.  Did he actually know that?  No.  But did they know that?  No.  “He ever tell you how he knew about the bounty?  How long he had been planning this?”

“No, not specifically.” the man said, clearly seething despite his calm appearance.  His partner’s angry glare seemed to only encourage his betrayal.  “All he said was that he had heard talk of a large bounty being in town.  A handful have taken interest.  I don’t know numbers.  Most did seem to shy away once they heard what your bounty was.  Not many men were eager to die in a fight they were sure to lose.  My… _partner_ and I here only joined the hunt yesterday, at _his_ insistence.”

“Knew things had been too quiet.  Been waiting for things to fall apart for the last couple of days.  Knew they’d been too good for too long.” McCree murmured.

“You _idiot!_ You’re telling _everything!”_ his partner screamed.  “Would you to give away our names too, while you’re at it?”

“My partner’s name is _Orokana bakkusutabā_ and-” the rest of the elder’s monologue was cut short when his partner in crime slammed a foot into his face.  The older man responded kicking at the leg, knocking the other man off balance and down onto his back.  The younger man fell over with an enraged scream, kicking his feet wildly as he tumbled over.

McCree stood up, unsure if he should get between them or let them duke it out and save him the trouble.  When it seemed like the stupid backstabbing younger man had managed to finagle a knife from out of his pockets somewhere because the ropes that had been holding him down were cut and he was now loose, McCree started to rethink his neutral stance.  The man ignored McCree and lunged at his partner, who was shifting around in his chair nervously.

McCree’s gun was in his hand in an instant, but the elder man seemed to have worked his own knife loose, cutting himself free from the ropes.  He drove his knife into the young man’s abdomen, making use of his partner’s momentum to help with the penetration.  The young man coughed and stumbled, collapsing into his partner.  Making use of the distance _he_ had closed, he drove the knife into his partner’s back piercing his kidney.

“ _I always knew you were a weasel., moron”_ the younger man taunted, as the knife was ripped back out of his stomach.

“ _I always knew you were a backstabber, **idiot**_ _.”_ the elder man hissed, as the knife was pulled out of him.  The two of them collapsed, bleeding to death swiftly, both stabbing each other in fatal spots.

What kind of Shakespeare shit had he just watched go down?  Backstabbing and betrayal?  Dead bodies?  A handful of mercenaries on his tail?  Well, Jesus Christ on a bicycle, now seemed like a good time for him to exit, stage left.

Cleaning his hands, McCree got dressed, throwing on what Jack had called his “country boy in a Clint Eastwood film” getup.  It didn't matter what he wore while a target was already on his back.  A fight was coming and this cowboy was going to be ready for it.

He'd fight them head on, force them to meet on his terms.  One of the key factors of his terms being that he limited the casualties, he set out, heading towards a quieter, more abandoned part of town.  If he could keep the coming firefight out of civilian territory, he was a lucky man.

After he got dressed, he unscrewed the vent and stuffed the important stuff he was carting with him up in it, hiding it out of sight.  He couldn’t lose the laptop.  It was far too important to keep out in plain sight when who knows how many mercenaries were on his tail.

He tidied up the blood on the floor and wrapped the bodies in some sheets before he left his room. And don't even get him started on how hard it had been to cart the bodies down to the dumpster without being seen.  No cleaning lady in the world got paid enough to deal with one body, let alone two.  If he could keep one person from getting scarred for life today, then he was doing better than he hoped.

The hardest part was walking down this narrow street, just knowing that there was a handful of people out there who wanted him dead, and he had to act like nothing was wrong so as to not set off a panic.  There were eyes watching his every move, waiting to pounce and rip his throat out.  The hardest part was the waiting, wondering when it would all just turn to shit.

He pulled his hat down low, doing his best to keep his head down while he hustled. 

There were eyes up on the roof to his right.  He could feel them boring into him.  A sniper?  Or someone who preferred to follow him out of sight?

 

**************

Hanzo had done with math, worked the numbers, and found just how far sixty million could go.  Sixty million could give him a second chance, one beyond the anonymity that he had originally craved.

 There was a soft rustle of papers as he flipped open his notebook, a place where he organized all his thoughts when he had the time, finding the most recent page he had written on.  His work was messy, sloppy, dipping towards erratic as his writing had quickened with realization.  That money could give him a new life, but instead of one of obscurity, it could be one at the top.

 With that kind of money, he could rebuild himself an empire.  He could reclaim some of the power that had been stripped away from him, that he had cast aside.  He could become _someone_ again, except this time it would be the someone _he_ wanted to be, and not who the clan decided acceptable.

 It was tempting to lay claim to the money, tempting to rebuild himself an empire to squash what the clan had left.  The question would be: how would he prove himself better than the clan that had controlled him?  

 He could play the sides against each other, sell weapons to both good and bad, and become a death merchant once more, sitting back on his blood red throne and signing the death warrant for every life lost from the weapons he pawned.

 But was that who he wanted to be?  He wasn’t so sure.  Tempting, very tempting, but he wasn’t sure if that was what he truly desired or if it was what he was indoctrinated to desire.

 That was the _beauty_ of the money, though.  He didn’t have to be anyone he didn’t want to.  With his situation now he was forced into taking jobs, only some he truly approved of, to keep his funds above water.  With sixty million in his bank account, he had the luxury of freedom, the luxury of time, to find how to be someone worthy, someone his brother could actually look up to.

 On one side of the page was his plan for his rise to the top, the stairway built with pile upon pile of cold hard cash.  On the other side of the page was his blueprint for a new life, a quiet one, one where he became someone new, one where he started everything over once again.

It was only after he determined _how_ he could use the sixty million, to buy himself freedom or to buy himself power unimaginable, that he had decided to join the chase.  

Two very different lives lay before him.  He couldn’t live them both.  A choice would have to be made.  Of course, he’d have to earn the money first before he continued to mentally spend it

 His dragons had been communicating through only a soft angry murmur ever since he had joined in this hunt.  They didn’t feel like killing Jesse McCree was justified, not when the only proof given of his death sentence had been the train robbery, described too vaguely to be a reasonable death sentence.  They felt that this hunt was lacking honor, that it was unbecoming for him to participate in mindless slaughter; they did not approve of his actions in the least.

 But didn’t they understand?  If he didn’t act then nothing would change.  If this man was truly the monster that he had been told, then he was entirely expendable.  Hanzo had to take the shot on this payout, he had no choice.  The only chance he had at advancing himself, for better or for worse, lie in the bounty of Jesse McCree.

 He gently closed the notebook, taking care of one of his loyal companions on all his travels, feeling the buzz of excitement in the air.  Or was that buzz of a furious dragon under his skin?  It was hard to tell.

 There was a rush of movement on the rooftop across the way.  A flurry of excitement on the ground below.  His eyes scanned the scene as he sought out an answer as to what was going on.  He found his answer.

 The real beginning of this hunt had finally come.

 Carefully peering over the edge of the roof, Hanzo now watched the target make his way down the street, taking full advantage of the height to spectate those below.  In the middle of the lion’s den walked their Daniel, head ducked low and face hidden as he navigated the path where the line between man and beast blurred, the side of town the locals called Death Row, for mercenaries lurked in the shadows of this street when a bounty came to town.

 Right from the start, one thing was clear; this McCree certainly didn't make any effort into blending in.  Though, considering how dangerous he seemed to be, he didn't really need to.  It was an aposematic threat; stand out with bright colors as a warning that he was dangerous and not to be messed with.  Go and find him, his clothes screamed, he knew he was good enough to handle whatever was thrown his way.

Hanzo wasn't exactly dressed to subtly himself, not with the armor he wore, nor the mask over his face.  He was in his battle gear, ready for a fight, and it showed.  The only new addition was he had brought along his pack, for he needed a quiver and he had no idea how long he would have to be on stakeout before McCree showed.  It was good to have been prepared; this preparation had put him right where he needed to be.

 McCree was heading farther into the downtown area of the city, past the shops and straight into the desolate abandonment of failed entrepreneurial attempts.  Would he make to the abandoned side of town before one of the other assassins struck?  

 Hanzo was a patient man.  He was willing to wait and let events play out once they could limit the casualties.  However, he was sure that many of the others in the running for this bountiful bounty would not be half as patient as he.

 A noise tickled his ears on the right side and a quick glance told him that there was another mercenary on a rooftop across the street.  It wasn’t the sight of another person that had Hanzo shifting upright, no.  It was what the other man held and where he was pointing it.  The man had his gun, a powerful shotgun, aimed down at this McCree, preparing to shoot him in the midst of the small crowd.

  **That** was something strictly against the mercenary code.  They didn’t risk civilian lives unnecessarily, not the smart ones.  Attacking other mercenaries was allowed, especially when sparring over a bounty like this, but not the innocent bystanders who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  To kill a civilian would put the police on their paths, and, personally, taking lives unnecessarily always left a sour taste in his mouth and a pit in his gut.  

 There was no clean shot for that man to take, no matter how good his aim was.  No one else needed to die.  Not here.

 Hanzo sprinted and silently leapt across the small gap between the rooftops, launching an arrow at the man as he himself soared through the air.  The arrow pierced the scum’s mandible and the gun fell from his hands, that soft clatter the only noise of the deadly exchange, for Hanzo landed on his feet without a sound.

 Mercenaries didn't put civilians at risk.  To break the rules allowed others to break them if only to put you down.  

 Thus was the code of mercenaries.  Thus was their law.

 And to break their law was punishable by death.

Hanzo took a moment to look the body over, wondering if he would recognize the man.  He hoped he wouldn’t.  To end the life of someone he knew would hurt, and if they just so happened to be close to him it would break his heart.  

 Rules were rules, though, and if a death was necessary to enforce compliance than so be it.

  ** _Would_ ** _it be necessary?_

  _Have you_ **_not_ ** _since_ **_learned_ ** _?_

 Shut up.

 His dragons had been less than supportive of him and his decisions as of late, even though they were all necessary moves he had to make.  Did they not understand what the money could mean for them?  Why did they fight him so much?  The last time they had fought with him so much he had…

No.  These weren’t the same.   They weren’t.  Not at all.  Hunting a murder was far different than killing his brother.

 _You’ve chosen to condemn a man to death judging him by only the words of_ **_others._**

_Are then and now truly so different?_

 Cease.

 Thankfully he didn’t recognize the dead man.  What caught his interest more was a small throwing knife, decorated with a small, crudely carved hummingbird on the handle, jutting out of the other side of the corpse’s neck.  

 Apparently, Hanzo hadn’t been the only one enforcing their code of conduct.   _She_ was as well.  One of the few assassins the clan hired when they needed someone to expertly dispatch a target and leave no traces, save for her unique style of execution, behind.  Things had just gotten far more complicated, and far more deadly, with _her_ now being in the hunt as well.

 Hanzo feared no man.  But _she_ was far worse than any man could ever be.  He wasn't frightened per se, but any sensible soul would hesitate a moment before continuing

 With the two of them on his trail, this McCree didn’t stand a chance.  Only two questions remained: which of them would land the final blow on McCree and which of them would be the last mercenary standing?

 

******

 Hearing noise above him, McCree jerked, casting his gaze to the buildings above  Those were sounds that he had heard many times while working or Blackwatch.  There had been a soft thud and then a louder one followed by the clink of metal falling.  Those were the sounds of a body falling and then a weapon being dropped from lifeless hands.

 Someone had just been killed.  

 Were there so many of these sons of bitches that they were now taking each other out?  Just what was he up against here?  Just who wanted him dead this time?  

 Face him face-to-face, you fucking cowards.

 He glanced at a shop window out of the corner of his eye and surveyed the crowd around him through the reflection.  There was a couple walking hand in hand that had managed to keep pace with his hurrying despite their guise of a leisurely romantic stroll.  He considered them a threat until proven wrong.  Everything was a threat until proven otherwise.

 He wanted distance.  If the threats had surrounded him, he wanted them to also have to chase him and to have battle it out to re-establish their ground.  If they wanted a pursuit then they were going to have to out themselves to keep up.  

 He hustled into a back alley and clambered up onto a dumpster.  Leaping, he grabbed hold of the fire escape ladder, which was too rusted shut to fall down for him and make things easy and pulled himself up rung-by-rung to the first level.

 He stopped there, at the first level.  He didn't want to go up to the rooftop.  It sounded like there was someone up there who knew all too well what they were doing and who was more than comfortable being up there.  He wasn't too keen about fighting on their turf when the ground suited him just fine.

 Instead, he used this small boost of height to jump over the rusty fence that was cutting the alley in half.  With a soft grunt, he landed on the other side and continued his hurried trek to quieter territory.  There was no reason for a firefight to break out here in civvy territory, not when there were quieter lands and buildings to make into a poor man’s grave.

 Whoever was following him via ground was going to have to be a little less subtle if they wanted to keep up with his fence-jumping jukes.  It should help him separate the mercs from the civs.  Those on the rooftops, however, would have an easier time adjusting to the directional change.

 Let them adjust then.  It didn't matter.  They'd have to come down to his playing field soon enough.  And when they did, he’d be ready.

 He jaywalked across the now less busy streets, hopping past a motorcycle as it sped past him.  Dodging into the next alley, this thankfully one fenceless, McCree continued his trek towards the industrial area, praying that no one started a firefight before he juked out of civvy territory.

 The lively apartment buildings and shops had now morphed into an old, closed down district.  The buildings here had rusted doors and paint peeling off the brick and concrete underneath.  The signs of disuse were plentiful on the establishments, their superficial states all extremely poor though the bones of the buildings still showed promise if they were ever rehabbed into a more pleasing condition.

 McCree slipped into one of the larger buildings, wanting space to move around.  This old place whatever it was, would have to do.  It wasn't the shutdown warehouse he was hoping for, and it seemed more like a place to host elaborate gatherings rather than do his business in, but it would have to do.  The tension was getting thick and he could feel the burn of the mercenaries hot on his heels. He had to make his move now.

 

***

 Hanzo watched from a distance as this McCree fellow darted into the old event center, slamming the door tight behind him.  The man still had room to maneuver.  He had a lead over most of his pursuers and it was his to lose.  Why was he stopping here?

 He was boxing himself in.  Why?

 Two other mercenaries, ones that had been holding hands and walking together in the guise of a couple rushed towards the door.  Their speed-up encouraged Hanzo to get a move on himself.  He couldn’t fall behind in this game.  If they were the ones to secure the kill, then the bounty was theirs to claim.  

 Whoever landed the killing blow had first rights to the money.  That was another code that the more respectable assassins followed.

 He darted towards the building, only wanting to close the gap a bit, to make sure that he had a fighting chance at the bounty when the two mercenaries forced the door open and darted in after McCree.  The minute the door swung open, a shot rang out, and then another, and their bodies fell to the ground in the doorway.

 McCree had boxed himself in so they had to funnel towards him, giving him a chance to pick them off.  An advantage he had played off like a panicked disadvantage, enticing the overeager to jump in and line themselves up in a personal shooting gallery.  

 Clever man.  Shame he only got two with a play like that.

 Motion along the west side of the building caught Hanzo’s attention.  Six men began nimbly scaling outside of the building, finding the door a much to dangerous option to consider, breaking in through the upper windows with ease.  Hanzo’s brow furrowed as he watched the synchronized display of fluid agility.  It was them without a doubt; the Red Monkey Gang.  They had come to claim the kill as well.  They and every other professional assassin between here and Wakkanai seemed to have dropped by for the fight.  Didn’t people RSVP to these events anymore?  It just seemed like anyone could waltz into things these days.

 Hanzo followed after, as did the other two assassins left presumably, climbing through the now-broken window and surveying the room he landed in.  He was on the second floor of the building.  It looked rather regal on the inside, a once nice place to host a wedding or a gathering that had succumbed to the passage of time.  Underneath all the rust, dust, asbestos, and mold, it was certainly a gem of a layout.

 There was a very wide staircase leading down to the first floor, one that had a four-sharp turn spiral on the way down.  There was a hole in the floor to the north of the staircase, one that seemed planned by the metal inlet decorating the inner ring of the hole’s square shape.  Hanzo surveyed the area around him, checking for any immediate danger around himself before he made his way over to the hole in the floor.  

 He retrieved his bow and nocked an arrow, taking aim at the target.  Taking a breath, he focused, drawing his power in as he drew back his arrow and preparing to unleash an attack that would strike down all beneath him.

  _"...Ryū ga waga te-_ ”

 He stopped.  Something was wrong.  His power wasn’t there, his dragons were holding back, refusing to be used in this fight.  His tattoo burned, the pain searing under his skin, as his dragons retaliated against him.  The power he had called up was caught in limbo, with his dragons keeping him from launching the attack and his refusal to back down.  After a short stand-off, he was forced to back down and let them drawback the energy he had summoned, if only so that the pain would go away.

  _You refuse to heed the guidance you craved?_

_Then we refuse to let you wield our strength._

 Stop.

 Fine, then, fine.  He’d do it without their strength.  He’d manage it just fine.  It would just take more planning because he’d have to be more careful now that he didn’t have their power on his side, but he’d still do it.  It would be easy for someone like him.  He’d just have to be smart and not rush into things.

 It was hard to not throw himself into the fight.  His warrior spirit burned to be in the midst of the brawl, but a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that killing without forethought was the most regrettable decision he had ever made in his life.  If he was going to do this, he needed to do it right.  He laid flat and peered over the edge, seeing how the fight beneath was going.

 What he observed, despite the lack of illumination for abandoned buildings didn’t pay their own electric bills, was unadulterated ferocity. The gang was doing a good job poking at McCree, directing his attention one way so that another member could approach from behind.  

 Unfortunately for them, this McCree fellow had the reaction speed of a cheetah, whipping around and throwing punches quick enough to scare off the assailants, connecting every other punch with a solid thud on his assailants.  Fed up, they tried to two-man him, but McCree was as quick on the grapple as he was on the draw.  He ducked when one swung high, grabbed the other by the waist, and picked him up.   ****

With a quick heave, McCree fell backward with the man, rolling down onto his back in order to make the sacrifice throw. The roll put him in a disadvantageous position, but it gave him the power and momentum he needed to hurl the man back behind him and into the others.  Quick as a cricket, McCree rolled back up to his feet, breaking for the gap he had just created in the line of men.

 The other men quickly regrouped, giving chase as he fled farther into the building, but McCree must have surely anticipated their reaction.  He wasn’t running scared.  He was planning on the run, and he was good at it too.  

 The sixty million dollar bounty was starting to make more sense as he watched McCree mow down every assailant that had tried to take him out.  If Hanzo wanted that money, he was going to have to play this smart.  He’d use the others as a distraction and take the shot when McCree’s back was turned.  That’s how he’d do it.  That’s how he’d show his dragons he was still capable without them hounding him.

 It was far from honorable, but it might be his only chance at the money, at a new life.  Didn’t that make it a reasonable action to take?

 Strike when McCree’s back was turned and kick the man while he was down.  

 Take him out when he was weak and distracted.  Wait until he was tired and worn out.  

 Wait until he couldn’t, wouldn’t, fight back and claim his life…

 Hanzo’s shoulders sagged as took a moment to think about this absolutely despicable plan of his.  It was a short-lived plan once he realized how positively degrading it was for a man of his caliber to stoop so low.  Was this really who he had become?

  _What do you mean_ **_become?_**

  _Have you ever_ **_been_ ** _anyone else?_

 Silence.

 Fine.  Okay.  If that’s the way they were going to be, fine, then.  He wouldn’t shoot to kill on the first shot.  He’d incapacitate if he could, and only kill if he couldn’t.  Would that be enough to earn their compliance?  

 He didn't want to do this alone.  Not with _her_ around.  Did they _want_ to be the death of him?

 There was a quiet hum of acceptance from his dragons, one that meant that they only partially approved of his bargain. Any further persuasion attempt died on his lips as a feeling crept along his neck, one that told him he wasn’t as alone as he would have liked.  He had scoped the area before surveying the fight below, there were no other entrances beyond the windows above.  Where would someone have…?

 Up.

 He rolled over and looked up at the ceiling, seeing the faint whites of eyes and the scant glimmer of a knife above him.  The glimmer plummeted and he barely managed to react before catching the knife, left hand grasping the blade an inch from his throat, the arm reacting quicker than his mind had.  It was shaped like a kiritsuke, but the metal was much sharper, having sliced his palm open as easily as scissors gliding through paper.  

 The assassin dropped down on top of him, landing obnoxiously gracefully. Straddling his body, she began wrestling the knife from his grip, the obnoxiously long sleeves on her otherwise tight shirt slapping him in the face.  He gave up the knife without a fight.  He’d rather not have the tendons in his hand sliced open.  He needed those intact, thank you.

 “ _I want this kill, Hanzo.”_ she hissed.  He knew that voice.  It was her.  Hachidori.  Dangerous, dangerous lady.  One that Hanzo shared a past with.  If she was on the case, then someone _really_ wanted this McCree dead.  Hachidori took no prisoners. 

“ _You and every other assassin here do,”_ he growled.  They had a cat and mouse working relationship. Traded barbs as they traded punches.  Hated each other really.  Stepped on each other’s toes many times prior, but respected each other’s talent enough to know how dangerous a fight could be.  Perhaps that changed today.

 “ _Then I will kill you and every other assassin here to get it…”_ she replied. _“I have been wanting to cash in on your bounty from the clan, and I think I have a leg - or two - up on you, especially here.  And I think the the clan would like to have you back, you know?”_ She leaned in close, lording above him with a sneer on her lips. _“Your mother misses her son, Hanzo… She might even be missing you too.”_

 How _dare_ she.

 In a fit of fury, he shoved her off of him.  It was an easy task for she was a thin woman despite her brute strength. She hopped back, allowing herself to be removed, landing on on the balls of her feet, ready to strike.  

 When she struck, it would be dangerous.  He had to be ready.  Hanzo reached down behind him, through the hole in the ceiling, gripped the underhang of the metal inlet, hooking his fingers in the gap of the sturdy metal, and braced himself.  She lunged at him, so he rolled back into the hole, struggling to stop mid-swing with all of that momentum, and hanging as best he could from the ceiling.  

 Not expecting this move, she fell through the hole but caught herself before she hit the ground.  Of course _she_ would.  Hanzo had wanted to pull himself back up, to get himself some distance or a good angle on her, but she had done a great job gouging his hand.  He couldn’t go up, despite how much he struggled to with one hand, so he had to let himself fall to the ground below and straight to the lurking assassin below.

 Blood was dripping down his arm, onto the scraped up floor, the slice on his hand razor thin but deeper than he would like.  Damn.  This was going to hinder him and his marksmanship, at the very least.  Incapacitate at the very worst.  Why his hand of all things?  He was already having enough trouble _without_ the injury.  This wasn’t helping.  This wasn’t helping at all.

 As much as he wished to treat the wound and bandage it, he didn't have the time for that now.  Hachidori considered him the biggest threat at the moment, and she was going to focus on taking him out of the running for the cash.  The injury had to wait until after the fight.  He would treat it then, if he survived.

 The sleeves of her dark shirt were long and flowing, hiding her blade from sight and making her target wonder which hand held the sword.  She raced at him, as nimbly as always, her sleeves swimming along behind her, her weapon still concealed.  She leaped, the sword clearly flashing in her right hand as she brought it down for the killing blow.

 Hanzo knew this game, though.  He knew her.  She had her name for a reason, and it wasn’t just because she liked being the only hummingbird in Japan.

 He braced himself, grabbing her arms and pushing them away as she tackled him to the ground.  Once those limbs were restricted, he immediately shifted his upper half to the right as far as he could despite Hachidori doing her best to pin him down.

 She was called Hummingbird, Hachidori, for she would flit about in a fight, launch a sudden attack, and, while in mid-attack, slip the handle of her blade between her teeth.  She'd pull her victim’s arms out of her way and lunge, cutting the neck open with her razor sharp “beak”, happily watching them bleed to death as she drained her victim as dry as a flower after a gluttonous hummingbird's gorge.

 The knife pierced the wooden floor right next to his throat.  She snarled in frustration at her miss, gritting her teeth around the handle of the knife as she pulled back, dislodging the sword for her next attack.

 Hanzo struggled to free himself from her iron grip, needing to get free to have a chance at surviving the next attack.  The blood-covered skin of his provided to be difficult to restrain, as Hanzo managed to slip his injured arm out of her grip.  With the room he had just bought himself, he managed once more to just dodge the attack, this time to the left, the knife just scraping against his neck.  He wouldn’t be able to dodge the next one.  She would make sure of that.  He needed to act now.

 Grabbing a fistful of the hair on the back of her head, he kept her from pulling all of the way back, keeping her from striking once again.  A look of curious annoyance crossed her face.  It was a look that turned into wide-eyed realization as he yanked her head down, slamming her and her sword into the ground once more, but this time jamming the knife’s handle against the back of her throat.  She gagged and jerked at the awful, jarring sensation, and he took advantage of the distraction to throw her off of him.

 Scrambling up, he began sprinting where he had last seen McCree run.  Hachidori was after McCree, it was why she was here.  Taking her his way should redirect her attention, and help him lose her.  Besides, Hanzo needed to get to him first, before the Red Monkey Gang could.  He was willing to fight to the death for this kill.

 

****

 Having created some distance between him and his pursuers, McCree now found himself in a wide ol’ room.  Big, echoey walls.  There was a fancy balcony upstairs overlooking the wooden-floored room, with piles rusted folding chairs stacked up against the walls.  Looked like the kind of place a nice gal would fancy getting married in, once the wood floor had been polished and the everything else dusted off.

 He didn’t have much time to admire the surroundings, though.  Six very persistent men were on his tail and he got the feeling there wasn’t going to be much a chance for peaceful negotiations.  Nope, no sir, this was going to have to be handled the old-fashioned way.

 The men were blurs in the shadows, skulking around and waiting for an opening to strike.  He didn’t want to give them one.  At least not one he wasn’t ready to handle.  His options were limited, though.  There was no way he was getting out of this without a fight.  The question was, what kind of fight did want to try to pick here?

 Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one poke into one of the few beams of light making its way through the cracks in the walls.  There was no way that was an accident.  It was a bait, to divert his attention that way. He wasn’t going to take it.

 They were getting ready to swarm in again.  He wanted to be rid of these guys already.  They were wearing him out and he still didn’t even know what was to come, how many others were out there.  Taking a breath, he got himself in a guarded stance, ready to whip out his fists or his gun depending on the situation that arose.

 One approached from in front of him.  He was moving too slowly.  It was another distraction.  Listening carefully, McCree could just make out the sounds of soft footsteps approaching from the left and right.

 He waited, staring down the man in front of him as he listened to the footsteps coming closer, giving no sign that he knew that the others were there.  The footsteps paused.  It was to coordinate.  They were getting ready to dive at him and try to three-man him into submission.

 McCree dropped and rolled backward as the two goons to his sides lunged, making them collide smack into each other.  McCree himself fell against yet another man, this one approaching from behind.  Looking up at the thug’s face while on the seat of his pants, McCree took a moment to adjust his hat, because it had gotten bumped askew when his head bumped into this fella’s thighs, and then snatched at the man’s belt while scurrying to his knees.  With a rushed heave, he flipped the man over his shoulder, throwing him against the goon approaching from the front, knocking them both back and away.

 He popped up from his knees to his feet, giving himself some distance from the four-way pile-up in front of him and silently began planning his next move.  

 Wait.

 That was only four of them.  Where were the other two?

 His question was half-answered when he noticed one of those rusted metal folding chairs getting swung at him.  He barely got his prosthetic hand up in time to block it, grabbing at the metal and noisily warping it when his hand curled into a tight fist. Before he had time to shove the man away, a sharp pain rang out on his back and head as a different chair was slammed against him.  There was fella number six.

 Oh, these men were dirty fighters.  Apparently, McCree was really going to have to get serious.  

 Dead serious.

 

***

 Hanzo had taken the stairs up to the ballroom's balcony, following the path McCree had blazed but opting to give himself a decent angle should he need to take a shot.  He paused at the top of the stairs, observing the messy brawl below.

 He watched as McCree easily flipped a man over his shoulders, tossing him as easily as a paperweight, and found himself admiring this character's brute strength.  It would be nice to see what this man actually looked like, but there were no lights in the building and everyone had to make do with the small beams of light sneaking in through the cracks and narrow windows.  

 It was tempting to jump down there now and engage, but he couldn’t.  He didn’t plan on joining the fight until Hachidori was otherwise occupied.  Any minute now, she would see the bounty slipping through her fingers and she’d redirect her focus to her original job and-

 A high-pitched shriek of a battlecry caught his ears, a scream like that of a furious banshee.  He whipped around just in time for see Hachidori race through the balcony’s entrance.  She barreled into him, knocking him over with a flying tackle and sending them toppling down the stairs.  They rolled past the rows and rows of seats, tumbling over and over with absolutely no way to stop with the copious amount of force behind their momentum.  

 As they careened down the stairs, she angrily clawed at his face, clearly frustrated by this waste of time, and it was all he could do to try to fend her off.  She pulled at his hair, yanking it loose from the neat knot on teh back of his head.  She also landed a successful scratch with her sharp nails, drawing blood from his cheek, right above the edge of the mask, but he managed to block everything else.  Everything important.  He had kept her from gouging out his eyes.  That was the important thing. He needed those.

They had crashed into the metal railing that ran along the bottom edge of the balcony.  Hanzo gave a grunt of pain as the now shattered glass panels fell on top of him, trying to shield his eyes from the shards.  It was only that low railing that was keeping them from plummeting down to the ground floor.  That was a fact that Hanzo took advantage of.  Hachidori was also dazed from the trip down the stairs, as was he, so he took the chance to heave her off of him, over the low railing, and down to the ground floor.

 She, unfortunately, caught herself before she fell, of course she would, but it didn’t matter.  The sight of the Red Monkey gang beating McCree into a corner had her worked up in a raging tizzy and she dropped to the floor below without a fight, knife now once more in hand.  

 She had left willingly.  She had gauged that Hanzo was no longer the biggest threat to the bounty.  What did that mean?  Was that good?

 Hanzo let out a shaky sigh as he watched her go, taking a moment to catch his breath.  Oh, that hurt.  All of that had really rather hurt.   The clear crystals of glass had scratched at his arm, scraping more cuts onto the already bloody limb, and his cheek stung as his brain finally registered the shallow wound on his face.

 It shouldn’t have been this hard of a job.  Was he losing his touch?  Had taking the easy jobs back in America dulled his skills down to nothing?  Was seeing someone from his past throwing him off this much?  That was it.  Hachidori had always been adored by the clan for years, after they had started contracting her during Hanzo's late teen years.  They had been enemies at first sight, fighting for top honors and the praise placing first could earn.  They hated each other's guts; that emotion was throwing Hanzo off.

 Still, he was better than this.  He had to be.  He should have been able to dominate this engagement.  Instead, he was barely functioning, left gasping as he tried to recover, considering dropping out of this hunt like a useless milksop of a son.

 His arm was getting rather damaged by this job.  He might have to drop out if only to survive this job, if only to ensure he could continue in his line of work.

 No.  

 No no no.

 He didn’t quit, he didn’t, he couldn’t.

 He’d just-  He’d rest here for a moment.  Just a moment.  Then he’d get back in there.  He’d fight.  He’d win.

 He grunted as he pushed himself upright, only just making it off the floor before he had to stop, his hand throbbing, blood gushing from the wound in his palm.

 He had to keep going.  He couldn’t stop here.  He- he couldn’t.  No, no, no.  He’d get McCree, he would, and then he’d be- he’d make them proud of him.  Then they’d _have_ to be proud of what he could do.

 He was _never_ second best.  He was _always_ the best.  He _had_ to be.  It was the only way anyone would notice.  It was the only way anyone would care.

 He’d get back in there, he thought as he shakily grabbed at the railing, fighting to pull himself up, he would and then he’d show them.  He’d show _everyone._ He’d-

  _Hanzo.  Shhh.  Relax._

  _Calm.  Breathe._

  _You’re panicking._

  _There’s no reason to panic._

  _You’re safe._

  _You’re not there anymore_

  _You’ve nothing to prove to anyone_

  _No one to please save for yourself_

  _You owe them nothing_

  _So don’t give them everything_

_Hanzo, relax, please._

  _Calm. Breathe._

  _You’re okay, Hanzo._

  _You’re okay._

 Hanzo’s breathing steadied as their words of encouragement sunk in.  

He was okay.  He was okay.  For now.

But he’d be much _less_ okay if Hachidori won, and escaped with her life.  If she reached the clan, she would sic those dogs on his scent, if only to earn brownie points with the clan.  He couldn’t let that happen.  The element of surprise was much too important to lose to the happenstance of running into her _here_  of all places.  No.  No, he had to take her out, for good.

 “ _Lend me your strength, your full strength.   I know you have not left me without your power, not entirely, but I will need your help, especially with this injury. As much help as you will give me,_ ” he asked of his dragons, his voice naught but a soft whisper of breath. “ **_I_ ** _have to-”_ He paused, correcting his request. “ _Hachidori needs to be dealt with and I cannot do it alone-…”_ He swallowed thickly. _“...-as much as I wish I could.  Would you two lend me your power so_ **_we_ ** _can take her down?  I beg of you..._ ”

 Their first answer was silence.  A static hum as they discussed their response.  They were weighing their options, the pros and cons.  When voices pierced through the fog, it was clear they were still thinking it over.

 " _I never_ **_did_ ** _like that woman…”_ Hidari mused. _“Callous.  Cocky.  Willing to destroy anyone and anything for her own sake….”_

  _“Very, very cruel human.  Rude._  Dangerous. _”_ Migi added. _“Never content with the blessings she has.  Always lusting for more, more than happy to use anyone to get there.”_

 Ah, they were letting him listen in to lecture him.  Unsurprising, especially with how vehemently they had been against this whole bounty hunting session on McCree.  They were debating how long they leave him to learn his lesson.  He pray it wasn't long, not now that he _needed_ their help.  Hidari and Migi were angry with him and his choices, upset it seemed that they hadn’t raised him better than this.  If they wanted him to suffer further, to cement the repercussions in the forefront of his mind, then he was in trouble.  They all would be.

 “ _Why do you want her taken down, Hanzo?”_ Migi asked.

 “ _What do you stand to gain upon her death?”_ Hidari asked.

 They wanted to know if he still wanted the money.  To see that if the only reason he wanted her dead was to ensure that McCree was _his_ kill. He didn’t, it wasn’t.  Well, he _did_ want the money _,_ who wouldn't,but he’d rather escape from her empty-handed, save for the knowledge that the clan wouldn’t know he was in the country.

 He knew that it wasn’t that they didn’t _want_ him to have the money.  It was that they didn’t _like_ how he would have to get it, by killing a potentially innocent man who was condemned by hearsay alone.  A sixty million dollar bounty had to come from somewhere, but there was no telling who wanted him dead, no way to know who wielding the checkbook paying for a man’s death.

 A time ago, when he was certain that his brother had died by his hand, he had begged his dragons to help him redeem himself.  To guide him and make sure that he lived his life with honor.  His dragons had cut him out, drained him, punished him when their words, goading, and reason didn’t work.  If they knew he was no longer blinded by greed, and no longer willing to throw years of progress away for a quick cash grab, then they’d be more than happy to be right by his side.  This punishment was by his own request.  They had only been doing what he said, not out of spite, but love.

 “ _The only gain I seek from her death is our safety.  If she lives, she will go to the clan.”_ Hanzo answered. “ _If she dies here, she cannot reveal our presence.  That is all I want.  After we ensure she is dead then we can leave.”_

  _"And the money?”_

  _“I don’t want it.”_ Hanzo replied.  He could feel the doubt coming from his dragons, so he continued with a clarification. “ _Not more than our safety at least.  Not more than what honor I have.”_

 He felt their hard stares soften.  “ _I knew that honor still lay inside of you, Hanzo._ ” Migi said quietly.

 “ _We both did_ .” Hidari commented. “ _And I’m glad to see it resurface once more_.”

 They stopped cutting their power, they stopped draining him, instead giving back what they had taken.  His tattoo glowed as their strength once more intertwined with his own.  His wound burned as the very small healing property his dragons gave him strained to heal the gash.  It wouldn't, but the gesture was touching.

 “ _Now, let us clip this hummingbird’s wings._ ” he said, carefully picking up his bow, blood streaming down the limbs of the weapon.  He winced as he notched an arrow, gritting his teeth and taking aim at the wicked villainess below.  His teeth gritted together, his lip curled as he pulled the string back, and he let the arrow fly.

 

***

 Out of everything McCree had been expecting to come at him right now, one of them wasn’t a flappy-clothes wearing chick giving a high-pitched screech as she came dropping from the balcony with a cascading rain of broken glass accompanying her.  She landed next to one of the Red Monkey gang members, yanked him close, and aggressively slit his throat, never breaking eye contact with McCree.  She was a big threat and she had no problem making that known. 

 Tossing the body aside, she charged, and the remaining gang members all but dove out of her way.  McCree got the feeling that he should be trying to get a move on too, scrambling to try to get some distance.  He managed to stumble backward out of her knife’s way, dodging the initial slash, but then she barreled into him, knocking him over his own feet as she reeled her arm back, ready to embed the knife into his torso.

 He groped around and found his flashbang, refusing to take his eyes off of her because she seemed like a tricky sort of devil that’d vanish if he did, and flung it at her, hitting her right in the kisser.  The flash went off, stunning her just long enough for McCree to get back up to his feet and blindfire a bullet, ‘cause there was no time to properly aim.  He nicked her throat with the shot and a small river of blood began staining her clothes.

 Why was it just the two of them fighting?  Where had the others gone?  It was then that he noticed how the five men he had been fighting hung back, watching, waiting.  Either they were too scared to face this chick head-on, or they were waiting for her to finish him off and then brawl over the leftovers, like a small venue of vultures.  Either way, it meant that this little lady was bad news.

 She growled and lunged once more, tackling him by surprise by hitting him down low, the handle of her sword connecting with the side of his hip, and knocking him down flat on to his back with the force behind her pin.  His arms were snagged by hers, her hands clutching tight and pinning his false arm at an awkward angle, making it hard for him to get the power in his shoulder to pull himself free.  

 He wasn’t too worried yet, though.  What the hell could she do now, with her hands all tied up like this?  Wasn’t as if she had a third hand that she could-

 As soon as McCree saw the knife between her teeth, and realized how she was gonna kill him, he bucked in a failed attempt to unseat her.  Her thighs were wrapped as tightly to his sides as her teeth were to the sword’s handle; she didn’t move an inch.  As blade was thrust down towards him, he grew pale.  

Oh, this wasn’t going to be pretty.

 There was a soft rush of a sound, an awful squelch of a noise, and the woman froze mid-strike.  She gave a small cough, the knife falling harmlessly from her mouth.  A stream of blood now ran down her neck, an absolute torrent compared to the earlier nick, leaving McCree wondering what had ripped her open so easily. Her eyes rolled up into her head and her grip on his arms slackened as she flopped lifelessly over to the side.

 Shoving her the rest of the way off of him, McCree pressed his fingers to the underside of her jaw.  No pulse.  She was dead.  Unsurprising considering the size of the wound.  Here lay yet another mercenary, killed by yet _another_ mercenary.  Just how many were still out there?  Just how many of them were left?

 There was no time to relax, though.  Once this assassin was dead, the five still alive on the sidelines wanted back in the game.  He barely had a chance to stand and reload his gun before the gang was preparing to jump him once more.  

 Not to mention, there _had_ to be another assassin up in the balcony, though whether or not they were still alive was questionable.  This lady mercenary had come down bruised, making far too much noise for someone of her caliber.  She must have been fighting someone.  A quick glance upwards and a shadow of movement told McCree that whoever was up there was still alive.

 Luckily, McCree had just the trick up his sleeve to wipe the field of these remaining six and make his life much, much easier.  All he needed was a fully reloaded gun, a few seconds to scope the field, and a winning quick draw, and then he was home free.

 

***

 Hanzo watched as Hachidori’s body fell lifelessly to the side, relaxing his bow.  The deed was done, the life claimed.  Hachidori was no more.

 He carefully made his way along the balcony, wanting a different angle to spectate.  The Red Monkey gang and McCree had to have realized that Hachidori hadn’t just dropped dead.  That was an arrow that had pierced her throat.  If they looked they would see the bloody projectile stuck in the floor somewhere beyond her and they could have used that to figure out where he had been lurking.

The man was looking up towards the shadows, up to where Hanzo was.  Did he see him somehow, through the shadows he hid in?  Were he and his dragons in danger?

 Kneeling behind the railing, using it as a makeshift cover, Hanzo carefully took aim at McCree’s right shoulder, nocking his bow and pulling the string tight.  

 Not yet, his mind told him.  Wait.

 The shot wasn't to kill, he reminded himself.  It was to injure, to restrict this wily fox’s movement, in case he did try to attack them.  His dragons supported this sentiment, judging by the cautious murmur he felt buzzing under his skin.  Self-defense was allowed.  If he needed to defend himself, they wouldn’t stop him.

 His lip curled as he held the string taut, keeping his breathing still as he kept his ears sharp for any other adversaries lurking about.  He felt as if there was anyone else around on Hachidori’s level, they would have made themselves known.  He wouldn’t swear to it, though.  Thinking he was safe could get him killed.

 McCree took a stiff stance, seemingly preparing for the coming fight between him and the gang.  Was Hanzo going to end up involved in the coming brawl?  He shouldn’t, this McCree shouldn’t bother with him yet, not unless he had a hell of a finishing move to deal with the five mercenaries closing in on him _and_ Hanzo.

 The man’s hand hovered next to his… thigh.  

 Hanzo twitched with a realization, freezing in place.  He had seen that stance before.  And the blanket over McCree’s shoulders and the hat on his head made for _quite_ a familiar silhouette now that he stood still enough for them to lay flat.

 Could it-?

 No.  There was next to no chance that it was-

 McCree finally spoke, his deep, decadently rich voice echoing around the room.  “ _It’s hiiiigh noon._ ” he cautioned.  The Red Monkey gang members merely looked at each other, some shrugging, before they rushed him.  He couldn’t take them all out, they must have figured.

 They were wrong.  They were so wrong.

 “ _Draw!_ ” McCree announced, and six shots rang out across the room.  The gang members dropped one immediately after another.  The Red Monkey gang was defeated.

 Hanzo would have celebrated that fact, but he couldn’t do much else than dumbly stare at the dented metal in front of him, the bulge of a just-stopped bullet creating a broken swell in the otherwise smooth bar.  The shot had been stopped inches from his face, just short of nailing him between the eyes.  He fell backward into a sitting position and just looked at the almost-fatal shot a moment longer before he cast his wide eyes back down to the scene below.

 Smoke wisped from the barrel of the revolver, catching the scant light permeating the room.  McCree, whipped his revolver around, dropping the empty bullets casings to the floor, cupped a hand to his face, tiredly rubbing at it.  Hanzo watched him carefully as he silently dropped to the ground floor.

_Were you not leaving?_

_What are you doing?_

_Hanzo, no-_

_Hanzo, stop-_

 He couldn’t stop.  He had to see McCree’s face.  He had to know if he was right.

 As he crept up behind, he saw McCree flinch.  Was his presence was known?  How?  The only way his stealthy self being discovered would make sense was if he was right and Jesse McCree was-

 Before he could think of what to do or say, McCree whipped around, fisting a hand through Hanzo’s loose hair and yanking his head to the side.  The red-hot tip of a revolver was pressed against the side of his head, burning his skin, and the man he knew as Joker glared down at him, panting with exhaustion, with a snarl in his lips and absolute murder in his eyes.

**

McCree was extremely thankful he wasn’t the type of man to shoot first and ask questions later.

 Tired fury raged through his system, adrenaline powering his every move, and he was running on nothing but instinct.  When he heard another one of these sons of bitches drop behind him, he seethed with a white-hot fury.

 One shot and he could be home free.  All he had to do was time it right.  With a quick whirl, he had the assassin in hand, gun pressed to his head.

 One shot and all of this was done.

 But he recognized those big brown eyes looking up at him.  He knew that masked face, despite the cuts and bruises, dreamed about it even.  Never dreamed about him holding a gun to his head, though.  That was more a nightmare than anything else.

 One shot could have ruined it all.

 Okami’s body went limp in his hands, and his bow loosely held by his side.  He was doing everything he could to non-verbally confirm he wasn't a threat, not to McCree at least.  Had Okami been hunting him with the others?

 “Jesse McCree?” Okami asked. His words were strangled and his voice an octave higher than McCree had ever heard.  The hand holding his bow was shaking, just barely trembling.  The blood had drained completely from his face, apparently all of it pooling out of his arm by the looks of things.

 Bless his heart.  The man was just as shaken as he was.

 McCree didn’t know if it was his southern instinct taking hold or just the sad sight before him mixed with some kind of shock in his system motivating him as he loosened his grip on Okami’s hair and roped him into a gentle hug.  His hand cupped the back of Okami’s head, his ears just catching the soft sound of the bow dropping to the floor, holding him close as they two of them just took a moment to breathe.

 McCree didn’t know what surprised him more; the fact that his first instinct was to pull his would-be killer of a friend into a hug, or the fact that Okami just let him reel him into a bear hold.

 After a minute or two, McCree pulled him back, resting his prosthetic hand on Okami’s shoulder.  He didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have minded holding him a minute longer, but they needed to talk.  “Okami, buddy…” he started, pausing as he debated how to continue.  There was no tact here, he just had to dive right in.  “Were you trying to kill me too?”

 “I-ah…” his eyes dipped low, avoiding McCree’s stare, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper.  “I didn’t know. I never would have-...Joker.  If I had known Jesse McCree was you, I would have never even entertained the thought.  Please…” he gave a shuddering breath, “...please believe me.”

 He was shaking again, just slightly.  Avoiding his stare.  Shoulders hunched slightly.  Still as pale as a ghost.  If this was him trying to fake a reaction to get McCree off-guard, then he was doing a top-notch job.  This wasn’t fake though.  This was guilt and shame, feelings that McCree had experienced man a time before.

 He moved his hand down from the back of Okami’s head, slipping it around to his chin.  Pressing his fingers against the juncture of jaw and throat, McCree sought out his pulse.  It was as fast as a jackrabbit’s, beating far quicker than it should.  He was still in a panic. That wasn’t good.  He’d lost a decent amount of blood from the looks of things, he didn’t need to lose too much more from an overactive heartbeat.

 Was he still scared of the gun?  Or was he more frightened by what McCree’s reaction could be to this whole situation?

 “Shhh, I believe you, honey.  Know you got my back, O.  You always do.” McCree said gently, moving his hand up to cup at Okami’s cheek.  Okami leaned into his touch, eyes closing to half-lidded.  It made quite the pretty picture.  “Wouldn’t have thought for a minute you woulda’ been gunning so hard iffin’ you knew your buddy Joker’s real name was Jesse McCree.”

 “Never,” Okami responded, with a gentle shake of his head, soft enough to ensure that McCree’s hand had no excuse to leave. “Never want to hurt you.”

 McCree gave a soft hum in acknowledgment.  He rubbed a thumb along his cheekbone, trailing it along the cut on his face.  His hair was undone enough to brush against Jesse’s hand.  It was right at chin length and thick too.  He hadn't known that.  Jesse had never seen Okami in such a state of disarray, in any of the jobs they had ever been on together.  It was so strange to see Okami looking like he had just gotten out of a fight to the death.

 Who knows?  Maybe he just had.

 “You got nicked up real good there, didn’tcha?” McCree asked, “To be honest, I didn’t even think a guy as good as you would ever get hit by anything, y’know?”

 “Hachidori has quite the claws,” Okami replied slowly.  “She tackled us both down the stairs.  Crashed us into the glass.  And that was after she tried to kill me with that sword of hers.”

 So he _had_ actually been in a fight to the death.  Holy shit.

 “Ah.  That had to hurt, I bet… Who’s Hachidori?  Was that the gal?” McCree asked, getting a slow nod of confirmation from Okami.  He wanted information.  Any information he could get would be stellar.  But that wasn't his top priority.

 His main concern right now was making sure Okami had calmed down.  Okami had been so pale that McCree was legitimately concerned that he was going to faint on the spot and so twitchy that McCree had been scared he was going to run and never look back.  Now that a decent tinge of color had returned to his face and he was still here, and he didn’t seem ready to run, McCree could finally relax.

 While McCree’s thumb continued to trail back and forth along Okami’s sculpted cheek, he dipped his index and middle fingers down, checking his pulse once more.  It was slowing down to something more normal.  It was still a lil' fast, but it was better.  Good even.  McCree wasn’t going to get any answers out of Okami if the man was still in a panic.  Calming him down should help with coaxing the needed information out.

That was weird to think about.  Okami in a panic.  Okami thrown off his game, left speechless and almost oddly timidly reserved, probably because of shock.  Never had he thought that would be something he’d ever live to see.  The panicking part specifically.  McCree knew all to well that Okami could handle being speechless just fine with his prior stoic bouts of silence on and off the field.

 “You know what happened to her, O?” McCree continued, trying to draw out an answer.  “She was just about to kill me, and then someone got to her first.  Was that you?”

 “It was,” Okami said slowly.  “She was dangerous, Joker- Jesse.  Surely you understand…?”  He tensed up again, bracing himself for something.  Okami really was off his game.  Maybe he and the chick had a history of some kind?  Ex-friends?  Ex-lovers?  Something at least.  Because something had sure as hell got him upset and completely thrown him off from being the cheeky badass that McCree knew and loved.

 “Nah, yeah, I get’cha.  You saved m’life, O, y’aint gotta give any excuses about offing her to me.” McCree reassured him, moving his hand back up slowly to the side of his head.  Okami had liked that, hadn’t he?  Having his fingers massage his temple, coaxing Okami into an almost languid state of relaxation. McCree didn’t mind resuming it none; he had liked it too.

McCree let out a nervous sigh.  That woman could have killed Okami; McCree should not be alive right now.  The only reason he was still kicking was because Okami had killed her.  McCree owed O his life.

 Actually… Hadn’t Okami admitted to wanting to kill him?  Maybe Jesse didn’t _owe_ him anything after all.  It sorta felt like with the trying to kill him but saving his life things had kinda just evened out in the end.  They were square.

At the very least, he had gotten a sliver of the information he was after.  There wasn’t another mercenary in the wings, at least not one that had offed the woman, and Okami still had a moral compass intact.  Those were both good things to know.  

 “D’ya know who sent you on this job, honey?  Got a name you can give me?” McCree asked, lightly scraping his fingernails against side of Okami’s head, earning a quiet gasp from the man as he was startled out of his lulling and back into reality.  As McCree gently tilted Okami’s head back, trying to make the man look up at him, Okami gave a soft hum.  He purposefully avoided McCree’s stare, pressing his head harder against the hand before he coyly looked up, his stare dangerous from under his long lashes.  This was the absolute best interrogation McCree had ever conducted.  “C’mon, O, you beautiful bastard.  Who wanted me dead?”

 “I don’t know,” Okami confessed, looking away, just about daring McCree to rectify the broken eye contact between them. “I only heard about your presence through an informant.  I don’t know who told him.  He didn’t know either.  Said ‘they’ got them out.  No name was ever said.”  Okami shrugged.  “He’s dropped out of contact after I threatened him. Even if he did actually ever know, I  wouldn’t know where he is to force it out of him.”

 “I suppose with a fish as big as me on the line, no name was needed.” McCree teased as he ran his fingers up towards Okami’s scalp, ducking slightly to try to make Okami meet his eyes again.  He could play this game properly and make Okami feel short to boot.  “What else this informant of yours say ‘fore you sent him scurryin’?  Anything useful, O?”

 “He, ah-...He...Oh, that feels-” Okami’s eyes grew wide and he straightened up suddenly, out of McCree’s grip.  That wasn’t the move he was supposed to make next. “Wait.  McCree, wait.  He said that fourteen assassins after you.  I killed one on the roof, you killed two in the doorway, Hachi killed one, I killed Hachi, you killed five more...”

 “I dealt with two this morning,” McCree added, awkwardly tucking his hand back into his pocket.

 That’s only eleven…” Hanzo said,  brushing his own hand against his head, already mourning the loss of contact.  “There’s still three more.  Joke-Jesse, there’s still another three.” That new name of his was going to take a bit to get used to.

 The two of them silently pondered the next move they should make for a moment before McCree finally spoke.  “Okami,” he said slowly, seemingly unsure how to ask the question. “Could there only be _two_ other assassins, O?" McCree asked, hesitating slightly before he continued,  "...now hear me out, there  _maybe_ be a chance that you forgot to, ah, count yourself as one?”

 Hanzo looked up at him, eyes widening at the realization  He took an unsteady step back away from McCree, his footing close to failing him amidst a dark cloud of recollection.

  _You kill people and you're good at it._ **_It's what you do._**

 The damned informant’s voice ran through his head, the words looping around in a sickening infinity of twisted truths.  He killed all that were close to him.  No one was safe from his blood-stained hands.  He was nothing but a murderer.

  _It was what he did._

 He had killed his brother.  Turned on his own flesh and blood.  And here he was, looking in the eyes of the only man he could call a friend, minutes after he had been ready to launch an arrow through his skull.  For what?  For a stupid payout?

 He was trying to focus on the present, but his mind kept getting pulled towards the past, with his brother’s body lying at his feet, and what could have been the future, with his Joker killed by his own hands, his body just limp, lifeless, on the floor, dead.  

 When he looked at up McCree, all he could see was an arrow pierced through his eye and blood running down his face.  When he looked up at Jesse, all he could think was how close he had come to murdering yet another person that mattered to him.

 When he looked up at McCree, all he could remember were those damn words.

  _You kill people and you're good at it._ **_It's what you do._**

 He was a monster.  A danger to all that he held dear.  He needed to run.  If he wasn’t here then his friend wouldn’t be hurt.  He needed to leave if only to keep McCree safe.  He had to go before he was reminded of how much of an absolute failure he was.  It only made sense.  McCree would be safe if Hanzo left.  If he left, he couldn’t kill anyone, even if it was all he ever did.

 Go.  Go go go. Now now now-

The look in his eyes must have been easy for McCree to read because the man took a half-step towards him, reached out and placed both hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place.  “Easy, sweetheart,” he said quietly trying to placate Hanzo. “I ain’t mad.  It was a simple mistake.  Nothing you need to beat yourself up over, O.”

Hanzo shook his head, trying and failing to take another step back.  He wasn’t having any coddling.  He was better than that. “I could have killed you, Joker… I was _going to_.”

McCree’s hand tightened on his shoulders, holding him in place.  Normally, Hanzo would have shoved them off of him, but there was no point.  His punishment was coming.  He deserved it.  Why fight it?

“No.  You were going to kill Jesse McCree.  Not Joker.  In your mind, they’re two different people.” McCree said.  “You still gonna try to kill Jesse McCree now that you know?”

“ _No.”_ Hanzo shook his head, hair brushing against his cheek. “  No no, Never-”

 “Then there ain’t any problem ‘tween us, a’ight?” McCree said.  “Y’know, I know this whole thing’s turned into a hell of a mess, but all’n all I’m really happy to see you again, O.  Missed you, sweetheart.” he paused, a soft smile on his lips. “Ah, would you mind if I held you again?  I realize I didn’t ask the first time, an’ when I need to calm down holdin’ something usually helps me, an’ you are the closest fella around, so….?”

 Hanzo’s squinted his eyes, his gut instinct to say no to the request.  He didn’t want to be coddled or cradled, he wasn’t raised to be a needy welp.  The last time he had been hugged, save for the last restraint of a hold McCree had put him into, was…

 ...was...

 ...was...

 ...ah...

...was when he was turning six, his mother had hugged him briefly, her presence alone gift enough at the small party they had had, celebrating the next step of Hanzo’s life, his beginning steps into adulthood and training to be the heir.

 He didn’t need to be held.  He didn’t have to be…

 But he found himself _wanting_ to be.

 Was he allowed this?  Jesse had said it was for him, but was Hanzo allowed to want it too?  Did it diminish the impact for Jesse if Hanzo wanted this too?

 Debating the request a moment longer, he relented on his initial knee-jerk reaction.  “I won’t say no, Jo-...Jesse.” Hanzo finally answered, taking a half step towards him, closing the gap between them.  Non-verbally, his actions all but gave McCree the go-ahead, something that McCree seemed more than happy to take.

 McCree pulled him in, holding him close in a tight hug.  He placed a hand on the back of Hanzo’s head, keeping him pressed right up against him, face pressed against McCree’s neck.  As tense as Hanzo was, he soon started to melt against McCree as the man began rubbing his knuckles against the back of his head.

 He was warm.  So warm.  A small spark of fire in this cold, dark building.  He smelled like cheap shampoo and aftershave, smoke and strong tobacco, and the blanket over his shoulders carried the scent of budget laundry detergent and the faint musk of him.

 He began humming, a soft melodic sound, his voice sweet as honey on the ears as he softly crooned a quiet tune.  The gentle vibration through his chest was faint underneath the armored vest he wore.  Where Hanzo’s head lay, with his face pressed against his throat, the feeling and sound were clear as the sky.

 His heart was racing, though his breaths were slow.  Was McCree calming down?  Was this helping him like he had thought it would?  Hanzo’s own pulse steadied as the two of them stood in the midst of all the silenced chaos, relaxing against Jesse and contentedly leaning into his hold.

His hand twitched, wondering if wrapping an arm around Jesse would help calm him as much as his arms had calmed Hanzo.  It would only be proper to reciprocate, wouldn’t it?  The hand slowly climbed, inching its way upright, brushing against Jesse’s hip.

  _“..._ _Groping the American every chance you get.”_

The hand stopped, immediately falling back to his side. 

Instead, Hanzo crossed his arms tightly against his chest, pressing himself further into McCree's hold.  He wasn't allowed to touch.  This wasn't about him.  He had no right to lay claim to any part of this man, not after he was going to kill him.  But McCree was free to hold, as he had wanted, and, for the moment, Hanzo would give him all the access he desired.  It was only fair.

_Would you ever trade this away for sixty million dollars?_

No, never.

 _Then perhaps there is still hope for you after all._  

As nice as this was, and as much as he was surprisingly fine with being… restrained, he felt guilty about enjoying this.  This wasn’t supposed to be about him.  This wasn’t for him.  This was for McCree.  Who gave him the right to benefit?  

 Was he taking advantage of the situation?  Making use of McCree’s own unease to make _himself_ comfortable? Selfish.  Such a selfish man.  It was selfish for him to feel so safe like this.

 He jerked against Jesse’s arms, wanting out, angry with himself for ruining everything once again.  McCree understood the movement and loosened his grip, letting Hanzo step out of his arms.  When Hanzo stepped back, McCree stepped forward, keeping the distance between them even.

The room was cold now, the wind whistling through the walls causing quite the chill.  Goosebumps ticked along his arms, making him wish he had his jacket.  They drifted into an awkward silence, with McCree pulling out a cigar and contentedly puffing away on it while they each waited for the other to speak.  Would there ever be anything in Hanzo’s life that he didn’t ruin?  Probably not.  He didn’t deserve one of those.

“Didja’ bring your things with ya’?” McCree asked, breaking the silence and drawing Hanzo’s eyes back up to meet his.  Hanzo opened with mouth to reply, but found himself biting at his lip instead.  There were now thin beams of light shining through the cracks in the wall behind McCree after he took that step forward, and they cast a beautiful light upon the left side of his face.  The illumination shimmered along his cheek, and his skin shone like a sparkling topaz.  His plush lips were now wrapped around his cigar in a soft smirk of a smile, his eyes a beautiful, deep terracotta, and his hair wild yet soft looking, now that it wasn't greased down by showerless days out in the desert.  McCree looked absolutely breathtaking.

It took a moment, but Hanzo snapped his focus back into place, his jaw clicking shut as he made himself straighten up.  Just because his emotions were still out of whack there was no reason for him to ogle McCree like he was a buffet of opportunity begging to be sampled.  Even if he could be.  Even if he was.

Now that he was no longer bespelled, he finally gave Joker- Jesse his attention.  It was all immediately ripped away once he looked over everything else that wasn’t his face.  Now that he had his wits about him, he finally realized what the man before him proudly donned.

There was a cowboy hat in his head, that blanket on his shoulders, a red plaid shirt underneath his armored vest, an obnoxious gold belt buckle spelling gibberish, leather chaps over his jeans, and a bonafide pair of western boots, complete with spurs on the back.    He blinked twice, gave McCree a second look-over, and finally looked him in the eye.  “What the hell are you wearing?”

Jesse laughed, clearly amused by the question.  “To your credit, I believe that is the longest that anyone has ever waited to ask me that,” he said with a grin. “Now I know you’re a learned man.  Ain’t you ever seen a gunslinger before, O?”

“A… gunslinger?” Okami murmured. “...You, ah, dress like this always then?”

“Mmm hmm,” McCree answered, a cheeky grin on his face. “Unless I gotta’ get around in some kind of disguise kind of get-up.  Nothing ever feels as good as this right here, though.” He emphasized his point by sweeping his hand up and down his body.

The mask moved, a sure sign that Okami was nibbling at his lip as the man’s eyes followed the hand’s trail, taking a long gander at McCree’s body for the third time.  “It looks good on you.” Okami finally said, speaking up only to break the silence.  His eyes lingered on McCree’s jeans a moment longer, his head tilting as he tried to get a stealthy behind-the-scenes view before he straightened back upright.

McCree just caught the compliment, but he had no chance to respond before Okami continued.  “I apologize, I believe you were saying something before I spoke?” Okami asked him.  “Would you mind repeating it?”

“Oh, ah, was I?  What was it...” McCree pulled the cigar out of his mouth and blew a bloom of smoke as he gazed upwards in thought.  With those pretty brown eyes taking him in, it seemed as if his line of thinking had veered far, far off course, heading into an entirely different sort of territory. It was only a moment later that he was slipping the cigar back between his lips and grinning down at Okami, having gotten himself back on track. “Was asking if you have your things with ya’, O.  Your bags and such?”

“I-No.  No, they’re back in my room, back at my hotel.” Okami answered.  “Why?”

“Well, I was hoping to ask a small… favor, I guess is a word for it.” McCree answered. “Was gonna see if you were available to help me with something.  I was planning to do it solo, but since you’re here I figured I might as well ask.”

“A job then?” Okami asked, somewhat hesitatingly.  “Who are you after?”

“Not a who,” McCree replied, bending over to pick up the long-discarded bow, his hands getting slickened with the blood covering it. “A what.  This is a breakin’ an enterin’ job.”

That seemed to grab Okami’s interest. “Where?”

“Ain’t telling you that yet, O.” McCree teased as he held out the bow.  “You wanna know where?  You gotta come with.”

Okami took the bow out of his hands, quiet as he debated the offer.  “If you wish me by your side then I will gladly be there,” he answered after a long moment, raising a finger to keep McCree from speaking just yet. “But.  There is also something that I must attend to.  Whether or not I deal with it first is determined by where and what your job is exactly.  I won’t ask your assistance for my task, just your compliance in my getting it done.”

“You did mention coming to Japan for something back in Vegas...” McCree quietly mused.  He shrugged, as relaxed in his reply as he almost always was. “That’s fair.  Let’s talk more about our to-dos later, if you don’t mind, outta this dead man gulch. ‘Sides, I need to go pack my things up, assuming no one else has broken in an’ taken my crap.  Only so long I can count on ‘em not looking in the vents.”

“Where are you going to go then, once you have your things?  How will I find you?” Hanzo asked.  “Did you want me to come with you to your room?”

“Nah.  Normally I’d say yes to an offer like that in a heartbeat, but, see, I figured you an’ I could meet up later an’ go on this lil’ road trip together once we got our things,” McCree said.  “We split, grab our bags, check-out of our rooms, meet back up, rent a car, and get busy.  Sound like a plan to you?”

“It does, yes.  A good one.” Hanzo said. “Where is your hotel located?”

“On the west side of the city.”

“Mine is on the east,” Hanzo replied.  “There’s a _izakaya_ mid-way that we could meet at this afternoon, and then plan from there.”

McCree rolled the idea around in his head.  “Which bar you mean, ‘xactly?”

“The _Yopparaimashita izakaya_  It is quiet.  Discreet.  A small hole-in-the-wall bar.” Hanzo replied.  “It is closer to the west side, but I can get us a car and meet you there.

“Sounds good to me,” McCree replied.  “‘Sides, I could sure use a drink after today.”

“Likewise,,” Hanzo said. “Would ninety minutes be enough time for you?”

“An hour and a half’s more than enough for me.  I’ll probably be there in less than that,” McCree replied with a shrug, starting to walk towards the exit with Hanzo. “I’m just ready to get out of this place.”

“I pity for whoever stumbles in here next.” Hanzo admitted, casting a short look behind him as they walked out of the room. “They’ll find both Hachidori and the entirety of the Red Monkey gang, among  the other bodies.”  He shook his head, thinking over the event of today.  “Eleven bodies in our wakes.  This was certainly a bloody chapter of our lives.”

“The Red Monkey-” McCree paused in his walking.  “Ain’t them fella’s supposed to be behind Helix walls?”

“They were, yes,” Hanzo replied.  “They were broken out by a ‘them’ or something, according to my lack-of-inform-ant.”

“Aw, shit.” McCree murmured, starting to walk once more, this time at a much faster speed than his prior leisurely pace.  The door outside came into view quickly. “Fare’s gonna need to know about this.”

“What are you planning exactly?” Hanzo asked, keeping pace with the taller man.  “What’s going on?  Who needs to know what?”

“Plannin’ on making an anonymous phone call so resources ain’t wasted trackin’ down these dead bodies,” McCree answered, digging through his pockets for some change. “You know where the closest payphone is?”

Hanzo swung his bag off of his shoulders and opened a zippered pocket.  He pulled out a small wallet, sifted through it, and held the coins out to Jesse.  “Walk out the front door, take a left, head back to the downtown area, and you’ll see them along the sidewalks.  There’s enough change here for an international call if you need one.” He yanked the money back as McCree stretched his hand out, forcing the man to look at him before he held the coins back out. “Promise to explain this to me later, McCree.” 

“Thank you, honey.  Will do.” McCree said, taking the currency from Hanzo, watching as he pocketed the wallet once more.  “I’ll tell as much as I can once we’re at the _Yopparaimashita_ _izakaya_.  I’ll be there, O.  Make sure you are too.”

 His expert pronunciation of the words surprised Hanzo, but he took it in stride.  There was still much to learn about this man, his friend, Jesse McCree.  The sooner they met back up, the sooner he could begin learning what he needed, and wanted, to know.

“Of course,” Hanzo replied, taking a sharp right as McCree took a left.  His task was set out before him, and there was a deadline to follow.  He wasn’t going to waste time here any longer, not when he was already missing the man.  “Consider it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Please make sure to give the artist some love and check out their gorgeous work!
> 
> Kudos and comments are super duper very much appreciated! Comments and feedback give me life.
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	8. Roaring Engines, Racing Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:
> 
> *Blood  
> *Minor character death  
> *Emotional admissions
> 
> Enjoy! <3

With his bags packed, his casual civilian wear donned, his room checked out of, his new room checked into via phone call, and his rental car parked at the end of the street, Hanzo now walked down the road towards the bar towards the waiting McCree, keeping his eyes sharp and his wits about him.

The car had to be left in a communal parking lot up the street, for the roads were too narrow to parallel park, so Hanzo had to make his way along the sidewalk to the inner downtown area. The wind was sharp but his jacket and mask helped tamper the frigid cuts of the breeze, keeping the chill at bay. The sky was a dark gray, threatening to either spew torrents of rain down to earth at any given moment. If they were lucky, the weather would hold at a mere drizzle and not a downpour.

This would be a cold walk to the bar, though thankfully not a long one.

As he walked along the sidewalk, Hanzo passed a small bakery. He paused to smell the air wafting from the building, the breeze sugary sweet. The addicting scent in the air proved to be such a distraction that Hanzo nearly collided with a young boy standing in the middle of the walkway, oblivious to all but the bakery window. Nimbly stepping around him, Hanzo glanced to the side to see what had him so entranced.

He had to admit the window display was rather enrapturing. The treats were as delicious to the eye as they seemed to be on the tongue. Wedding cakes decorated the top tier of the display, the towering cakes full of impressive detail that made them edible works of art. Various loaves of bread were displayed in baskets, and the shokupan even seemed to be freshly baked. Smaller cakes, cookies, and pastries lined the bottom shelf, though one particular cake caught his eye.

It was a small, round, white-frosted chocolate cake, and decorated with the plumpest, reddest strawberries he had seen in months, both on top, around the sides, and, inevitably in between the fluffy layers of cake. On top, in a circular pool of ganache, lay a thin chocolate wafer, one that could offer a good, contrasting crunch to a silky, light bite of cake.

His teeth tugged at his bottom lip, his mouth watering as he eyed the delectable treat. He _did_ need to make some sort of apology offering to Jesse. This would be a very delicious one, allowing him to make peace with a piece of cake. Who didn’t like cake? Who didn’t like chocolate? Who didn’t like strawberries?

Hanzo certainly enjoyed them all. Only fools despised dessert. And it wasn’t as if he’d just be buying this cake for himself. No. No, not at all. He’d be buying it for someone else too.

Of course, he reminded himself, it’s absolutely for someone else…

Oh, who was he kidding? He wanted the damn cake. A piece of it at least, for he would be more than willing to share.

 _You’re allowed to want, Hanzo_ , said a quiet voice in his head. _You’re allowed to want things for yourself now_.

 _Hush_ , he told the voice.

He could want, yes. But did someone like him really deserve to indulge?

Normally he’d argue with himself more, but not this. This wasn’t just for him, This was something for the betterment or delight of more than himself so he could allow it.

He stepped into the small shop, the door jingling to signal his entrance. There were a few people in line already, so he took his place behind them and waited. He had time to spare before he was set to meet up with McCree. A few minutes to dally, not long.

The line moved slowly, or at least it felt like it did, and he rocked up and down on the balls of his feet as he waited. He listened to the orders being placed ahead of his, silently praying no one would want his, no, their, cake. When a worker walked towards the window display he grew nervous, relaxing only once he saw them walk away with an empty basket, a sign they had swapped some of the bread for a different batch. His cake was still waiting for him.

Once he was finally at the head of the line, he wasted no time in placing his order. “ _The cake in the window,_ ” he said in Japanese, “ _the one with the strawberries._ ”

The woman at the register nodded, punching some buttons on the cash register. “ _Would you like anything written on the cake? A small message of some kind, perhaps?_ ”

Not expecting the question, Hanzo pondered the offer. Was there anything he wished to say on the cake that he couldn’t say with words? An apology for nearly killing the man, a brief “ _sorry for trying to assassinate you_ ” would be appropriate, but he was sure that the staff here would think such request rather odd and unfortunately more memorable than his desire of anonymity would allow.

“ _No,_ ” he answered after a moment, “ _I think not._ ”

Nodding once more, the woman finished punching in his order and gave him his total, which he then paid. While slipping his change and receipt back into his wallet, he was directed to wait on the side while they boxed his, their, cake for him in a small cardboard container, one with a plastic handle attached for ease of transportation. He walked out of the bakery less than five minutes after he ordered, delicious cake in tow.

He couldn’t help but sneak a glance down at his cargo as he walked on, the clear plastic circle on top giving him a clear view of their cake, and he walked the rest of the way to the bar with a small spring in his step. His sweet-tooth was such a weakness, but harmless enough that he was allowed to indulge it every now and then. This was a want of his he would allow.

The rest of his walk was thankfully uneventful and he soon reached his destination. The bar they were meeting at was a real hole-in-a-wall type of place. It would be quiet, though. That's what they needed, especially after such a chaotic morning. It lay behind a seemingly normal looking, unmarked door, down a stairwell off the sidewalk. The inside of it was dark, dim lighting casting shadows all around the room. There were old wooden stools by the bar and torn vinyl booths scattered along the walls, A savory scent of mouthwateringly delicious food clung to the air, and Hanzo inhaled to take in the appetizing aroma.

Despite the chilly weather outside, the bar itself was kept unreasonably warm. That was probably to encourage people to buy more drinks. He took a moment to unzip his coat and stuff his fingerless gloves back into his pockets in a futile effort to cool off, taking a chance to survey the establishment and scout the area.

Hanzo spotted McCree at a booth in the back, his hat giving him a stand-out silhouette compared to the few other patrons. There was a half-drained glass of alcohol in his hand and his shoulder blanket was in the seat next to him. He’d been here long enough to suffer from the heat. Interesting. Hanzo chanced a look at the neon clock on the wall. It still wasn’t time for them to meet yet; McCree was here early.

Hanzo headed his way, sliding into the seat across from McCree. He placed his cake on the table and slipped his guitar case from his shoulders, dropping it into the chair next to him.

“What’s that there?” McCree asked with a teasing grin, motioning his glass towards the box, “You bring me a present?”

“I suppose,” Hanzo replied nonchalantly. “It’s for the both of us really. A treat for later.”

It was then that Hanzo noticed that McCree’s eyes hadn’t been on the cake. They had been higher up like he had been looking at Hanzo. Chancing a look down at himself, Hanzo tried to see what could have possibly caught his interest. All he saw his dark shirt clinging to his body, his upper torso framed by the now half-unzipped jacket.

Then he saw it. His body piercings were evident thanks to a combination of the fit of his shirt and his body reacting to the cold, at full attention and on display. Looking back towards McCree, Hanzo was about to comment on the leering when McCree pushed himself up in his seat, peering through the clear top of the box. Had he not been looking at Hanzo or was this an act to pretend that he never had?

McCree gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Now ain’t that a purdy lookin’ cake. Those strawberries look real nice,” he said as he sat back in his seat, looking at Hanzo hopefully. “Is it chocolate?”

“It’s a chocolate cake, yes,” Hanzo replied, his temper cooling as he realized he may have been mistaken. As McCree’s eyes lit up at the reply, Hanzo knew he had made the right decision in buying this cake for the two of them. It seemed to check their boxes for an ideal dessert.

"Now I can’t wait to get me a nibble of that later.” McCree said, taking one last look between them before he flicked his eyes back to Hanzo’s. “I don’t know if you’re hungry or not, but I ordered some food. I haven’t eaten yet today and it smelled too good in here not to grab a bite to eat.” he continued. “You’re more than welcome to get a bite if you feel so inclined.”

“What did you order?” Hanzo asked reluctantly. He had dealt with foreigners who ordered without guidance, making assumptions on what they thought the translation could be. Rarely were they pleased with what arrived.

“Some edamame ta’ nibble on, some lil’ bitty double fried chicken, ‘cause I’m in the mood for some fried chicken, some marinated meat an’ veggie skewers, and some of them raw fish slices. I asked for ‘em to bring all the meat dishes at the same time so they’ll be a bit,” he said. “The edamame should be out here real soon, ‘cause they’ll make it faster. Don’t know if you like it or not, though I think it’s alright, I figured I should get a veg on the table in case you don’t eat meat or something.”

While flattered that McCree had ordered such a variety so that Hanzo could also partake no matter his preference, there was something that he could just not overlook. “I-... Do I look like a vegetarian?” he asked curiously, raising his brows in surprise.

“Not with those pretty muscles, you don’t,” McCree replied with a laugh. “Hell, if I was a vegetarian, I’da sworn off it as soon as I saw your arms ‘cause you’re so beautifully beefy an’ I’da known I wanted a bite the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Hanzo was left speechless at the flirtation, his face flushing thanks the heat of the bar, surely. McCree’s chuckle quieted down as he noticed a bar employee carrying plates their way, and a set of hot towels for their hands, their way. He grinned up at the waiter while the plate was deposited, and thanked him quietly.

Once the waiter had left, he grabbed the plate and offered it to Hanzo. “I apologize for presumin’ earlier. You are hungry, aren’t you?” he asked hopefully.

“A bit, yes,” Hanzo assured, washing his hand off with the small towel, noticing McCree copying his action and washing his own hands in kind. While Hanzo hadn’t been in the habit of saying thanks recently, there was just something about being back in his home country, eating in such an intimate setting with such a close friend that compelled him to. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and muttered a quiet “Itadakimasu.”

He wasn’t expecting to hear McCree give a quiet thanks too. The foreign word rolled oddly through the valley of his southern twang, but it still came out fairly clean despite the trip. It was such a curious sight that Hanzo was unable to keep his curiosity to himself.

“Last I recall, you never mentioned Japanese as one of those languages that you knew,” Hanzo said, watching as McCree picked up an edamame pod. “Yet you’ve seemed to be rather fluent. More fluent than most, at least.” His voice was bordering towards accusatory, moreso than he would have liked, but it was in part that he couldn’t help the feeling that McCree had been withholding information from him.

“Last you recall I was a fella’ named Joker running around in a superhero mask and pants so starched they might as well’ve been a potato,” McCree replied, placing whole edamame in his mouth and clamping his teeth down. He slid the pod through his teeth, popping the beans into his mouth. “And I figure you know that I ain’t the type of fella’ to toot my own horn.”

“I know that. You’re quite the humble man. It’s commendable.” Hanzo replied coolly, now mindlessly shelling the edamame pods, finding the repetitive motion relaxing despite his inability to eat at the moment. “I just didn’t realize that you were the type of man to purposefully play the wrong notes on that horn of yours.”

McCree cocked a brow high, chewing on the right side of his mouth. “Are you calling me a liar, O?” he asked quietly.

“No. Tactical deception is not so simply coded as a lie,” Hanzo replied with a shrug, the one motion helping to dissipate the tension between them. “You just struck me as such an open and honest man that I am surprised that you even had a deceptive bone in your body.” Hanzo dropped the empty edamame husk to his growing pile, adding the beans to the others in a small bowl. “...Perhaps it is the case that I do not know the man named Jesse McCree as well as I thought.” he added thoughtfully, the realization forming a deep pit in his gut.

Jesse took a moment to swallow his food, waving his hand as he silently asked for a turn to speak. “Now that ain’t true. You know more than you realize...But if you really feel that way, then lemme introduce m’self to ya’ and start fresh with you.” he reached down and wiped his hand on his jeans, reaching back up and holding it out to Hanzo. “Jesse McCree. Gunslinger for hire, cowboy with a penchant for ridin’ dirty. Red’s my favorite color. Whiskey’s my favorite drink. I like ridin’ in cars, ‘specially those driven by handsome men, fightin', ‘specially with a handsome man by my side,’, shootin’, hopefully good enough to impress a handsome man, eatin’ an’ drinkin’ friends an’ lovers alike, readin’ things I shouldn’t, writin’ things I should, and smokin’, among other things.”

Hanzo eyed Jesse’s hand before he gave it a brief shake if only to not leave the man hanging, and then continued to de-pod the beans. Once Jesse finished his re-introduction, Hanzo quietly looked at him, going over everything that had just been said, having to replay the words for his fried brain.

“That… doesn’t sound much different than the Joker I know.” He admitted, his cheeks still tinged red. If his wits had been back about him properly he would have said more, something along the lines of teasing Jesse, asking him who this handsome man supposedly was and putting Jesse on the spot just shine once the spotlight was turned back his way.

But he didn’t.  Because deep down, he felt he already knew who this ‘handsome man ‘was, who he hoped it might be. The nicknames and flirty grins had been subtly, but subtlety was no longer his intent. But that wasn’t why he didn’t.

It was because, deep down, he wasn’t sure he was ready to know because he wasn't sure what he would do once he did.

“That’s ‘cause the Joker you know’s still Jesse McCree,” McCree explained with one of his beautiful smiles. “I’m still the same person, O, it’s just that I can be more open with you now. I ain’t got hide behind a stupid mask now that you-…” McCree paused, his smile falling flat as he sucked in his lower lip, teeth clamping down on it. “Not that- Hold on- I mean- Your mask is fiiiiine, O. Mine was the dumb one, ‘cause like it covered m’eyes, an’ it got in my way sometimes, but you have one of the, ah, slickest lookin’ masks I’ve ever seen an’-”

Hanzo couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of him. How many times had he heard this in the past? The apologetic rambling, intending to smooth over anything that might have offended, delivered with a honeyed voice and sheepish smile. The man was no different now that his mask was off and it was a fact that left Hanzo elated.“You really are the exact same person, aren’t you?”

The realization came with a wave of relief washing over him. To find that Joker, the man who had forced his ways into his idle thoughts and dreams, was still the same person and that his alternate persona hadn’t all been an act, reassured him that his trust lay in the right place.

So many people in his life, especially the clan, had used fake personalities to manipulate, sway, schmooze, and profit. To find someone so honest, so sincere, and so genuine in a world like this was absolutely breathtaking in the utmost beautiful way.

Oh, he really adored this man, now more than ever.

“Oh, I dunno.” Jesse drawled, catching Hanzo’s attention. “Wouldn’t say I’m exactly the same as you thought. I’m sure there’s still plenty you don’t know.” Jesse paused, a small smile ticking on to his lips, and he continued before Hanzo could second guess himself. “Of course, I figure you’re gonna have to hang around with me for a lil’ while longer to find out what you’re missin’.” He punctuated his sentence with a cheeky wink, leaning towards Hanzo with a teasing grin on his face.

“Lucky for you,” Hanzo replied smoothly, leaning in to match him. “I was already planning on it.”

“Oh, yeah? Speakin’ of planning-” McCree interrupted himself when he noticed the waiter approaching, leaning back against the back of his seat. He took a moment to smile at him, thanking him once more when their order was dropped off. “Mind grabbin’ me another shochu?” he asked the waiter, looking towards Hanzo “And, ah, you wantin’ anything to drink, sweetheart?”

“Water,” Hanzo responded, his mind distracted.

Sweetheart? That’s what McCree had called him? It was a name that he kept using. Why? Sweetheart? He wasn’t sweet at all, save for that one sweet tooth but one molar shouldn’t dictate nickname? Sweetheart? What sort of nickname was that?

He liked it.

“And a glass of water for my friend.” McCree finished, smiling up at the waiter. Once the employee left, McCree looked back at Hanzo. “As I was sayin’, speakin’ of plannin’, were you plannin’ on sharing any of the edamame in that bowl there or is that your lil’ stash now and I should keep m’hands to m’self?”

Confused by the question, Hanzo looked down at the table. His eyes widened when he saw the pile of edamame beans he had accrued. With all of his mindless shelling, Hanzo overfilled the small bowl in front of him, with all but two of the edamame pods, McCree’s, lying to his right side.

He pushed the bowl towards the middle of the table, the ceramic container clinking against the plates as it was awkwardly maneuvered. “I was just trying to save us some time,” he said casually. Sure he was. It wasn’t as if he had forgotten what his hands had been doing, distracted by whiskey brown eyes and a voice as smooth as rum. Not at all.

“Look at you. As efficient as always,” McCree teasingly crooned, grabbing a small handful of beans from the bowl. “Be sure to eat up, sug. Food’s meant to be shared.”

Hanzo looked down at the plates and then back up at McCree. He was hungry, more hungry than he had realized now that the food was here and smelling positively divine, but he didn’t want to take off the mask. He had entertained the thought, yes, but he wasn’t comfortable at all with the idea. Not yet. It was too much too soon.

McCree seemed to pick up at his unease. “Ain’t ready to pop it off yet?” he asked quietly, subtly gesturing to the mask. Hanzo nodded in reply, a feeling of shame, both his own and what he was sure McCree would lump onto him, creeping up his spine. “That’s alright. Just ‘cause one of us is running around bare-faced don’t mean both of us have to.” McCree answered, awkwardly using chopsticks to attempt to move food from the plate to his mouth. He seemed to be out of practice, though that assuming that he had ever actually known how to use the chopsticks in the first place. “Might as well set some aside on a plate for yourself, y’know? Couldn’t hurt.”

Hanzo took his advice, if only because McCree was being reasonably kind and he wished to appease him somehow. He swiftly moved a portion of both the chicken and the fish to his plate, making sure to keep them apart. Having the food in front of him like this was just teasing him further, unfortunately, but not enough to change his mind about his mask. As he placed two of the skewers alongside the rest of his food, McCree grabbed one for himself, nibbling at it and groaning in appreciation as the marinated meat touched his taste buds.

“Aw, now ain’t that delicious,” he groaned in appreciation, eagerly taking another bite and then another. He clearly hadn’t eaten in awhile while on the run, a fact Hanzo felt partially guilty of. McCree washed down his food with a long sip of his drink and then look at Hanzo. “I figure now would be a good time for you an’ me to start figurin’ some things out, yeah?”

“Yes, that would probably be ideal. The sooner the better,” Hanzo agreed. The subject change was more than welcome. McCree was being far too kind in this situation. Hanzo had the feeling that was just the sort of man that he was. “Would you mind if I began asking you a few questions?”

“Nah, not at all, gumdrop,” McCree answered, popping a thin piece of sashimi into his mouth, cutting himself off to hum happily over the bite of food. “Go ahead an’ shoot. What’cha wanna talk about?”

“Who did you call earlier?” he asked. “When you were looking for a payphone? After the brawl? Who did you call and why?”

“Well, you’re just divin’ deep into this q an’ a session, ain’tcha? And here I was hopin’ that you were gonna ask m’favorite movie or somethin’.” McCree teased, sighing before he gave a straight answer to the question. “Called Helix security, the company that was supposed to be holdin’ that Monkey gang, and gave them an anonymous tip ‘bout their bodies. I have a friend who works there, so the less time they have to spend cleanin’ up this mess, the better it’ll look for her.”

Hanzo didn’t understand his reply. “You have a friend and yet you made an anonymous call?”

“I, uh…” McCree rubbed the back of his neck. “Me an’ my friend ah, ain’t exactly been in direct contact for a while. An’ if someone figures out that still at-large ‘criminal’ Jesse McCree is calling Helix HQ an’ askin’ for one of the captains then they might think she’s a reason I ain’t been caught.” he said, pausing before taking another bite of food to quickly add. “She’s not. I’m just a slippery devil. Her division ain’t exactly focused on m’kind anyhow, but I figure it best to make sure it never becomes an issue, ya’know? Lotta’ folks that know me tend to have bad luck. She’s worked too hard ta’ lose everything because I’m a cursed son of a bitch.”

Curious. Very curious. “How does an ‘at-large criminal’ know a division captain at one of the highest security facilities in the world?” Hanzo inquired. There was no reason for Jesse to be acquainted with Helix, was there? How was he so personally acquainted with someone that high in their ranks?...

“We were friends before she was a captain an’ I was a wanted criminal.” McCree casually explained. “We grew up together. Hell, I helped her with her schoolwork when she was younger.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, kinda. She kinda helped me too. And I taught her how to shoot a gun.” he paused again. “Well, kinda taught her anyway.”

Hanzo steepled his hands in front of his face. “Please tell me that her schoolwork did not involve shooting a gun,” he asked tiredly.

“Nah, the target practice was just something I promised her we’d do if she aced her Geography final, which was her least favorite class,” McCree said. “Though, to be fair, she aimed well enough that I woulda’ given her an A if it’d been an assignment. She probably picked that aim of hers up from her momma’.”

"She picked up her aim from her mother?" Hanzo asked. “And her mother would be…?”

“One of the best snipers the world's ever seen, God rest her soul, an’ a hell of a teacher ta’ boot,” McCree answered with a sigh, hand pressed to his heart. “I taught myself how to shoot, but she's the one who taught me how to aim. One of the folks who raised me really. I miss her. And Fare. God, I miss them so much.”

Hanzo wanted to continue this line of questioning, but McCree looked so downhearted while discussing the two women that he let it drop. He had never seen McCree’s warm eyes look so wistfully sad, taking a gander back at a time only he had known. Instead of prying further now, he changed the subject, giving McCree the same sort of verbal escape he had been gifted earlier.

“You mentioned being here for a job of some kind, yes? ” Hanzo asked. “What is it?”

“Well, see there’s-” McCree stopped talking, holding up a finger as he silently put his thought on hold. He waved the waiter over after he was done delivering dishes to a table across the room. “Can I get maybe a pitcher of shochu so I ain’t buggin’ you every two minutes? I’m startin’ ta’ feel bad.” he said, pointing to his almost empty cup. The waiter nodded at his request, fulfilling his request quickly, and McCree flashed him a quick grin and a happy thanks for the fetched pitcher before he left.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I figured it’d be easier to talk if he wasn’t popping in to check on us every few minutes ‘cause I’m a thirsty bastard. This should buy us some quiet time.” he said, topping off his glass with the pitcher, “So there’s an old science lab up north. The, ah, K Squared labs. The Karada Kakushin, I think is what that stands for.”

“K Squared focused on biological innovations fused with cutting-edge technological advances. Revolutionary stuff. They were trailblazers in their field.” Hanzo mused. “Well, they were when they were open. What could you want from them now? They’ve been shut down for months.”

“Rumor mill says that the employees were forced to suddenly pack up after that massive recall shut ‘em down. They had to git’ real quick once the company was kaput.” McCree murmured, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Some people been sayin’ that they didn’t pack everything up an’ that there’s somethin’ _real_ interestin’ hidin’ in storage back at their HQ.”

“Interesting how?” Hanzo asked. It didn’t matter how. It was already interesting enough for him. The more detail he could get, however, the better.

“Interestin’ as in the leftovers of what shut ‘em down in the first place,” McCree answered. “Interestin’ as in some of the nanomachines themselves, still sittin’ pretty in a test tube or somethin’.”

Hanzo leaned forward, responding in a low whisper. “Why would they still have the nanites? Those are what triggered the recall in the first place.”

“Word is that the government regulations board slammed the book down on them so fast that they didn’t have time to figure out how to dispose of the bugs nor how to remake ‘em enough to turn their losses around,” McCree said. “So, they just abandoned what was left of their stock, makin’ sure to shut their doors quick enough to avoid another hefty fine to cut their losses.”

“And you’re interested in these because…?”

“Because, uh,” McCree paused, “You know why the company was shut down exactly? What the nanites did ta’ people?”

“Something about the nanomachines and artificial limbs unable to coexist, if I’m remembering right. That was part of it, at least” Hanzo said, trying to remember the news reports on the topic. He’d watched them, but he had long since blocked them out. “What was it exactly?”

McCree nodded. “Yeah, you kinda got it. The nanomachines themselves were supposed to help patch up bigger injuries, by multiplyin’ enough times to keep a consistent heal goin’ while they floated through the bloodstream, ‘steada’ runnin’ out too soon an’ leavin’ a wound behind. Like a longer lastin’ biofield sort of. The prosthetic limbs themselves are also supposed to help keep a body strong an’ healed where they’re affixed, so they’re constantly regulatin’ and patchin’ up the wear an’ tear too.” McCree explained, swirling the liquid around in his glass. “The nanomachines and fake arms an’ things ended up crossing frequencies or somethin’ somehow which unintentionally tweaked the Nanos so that they just ended up damn near infinitely multiplyin’ and corruptin’ the whole system. The blood flow’d bring them up to the brain an’ cause things like hallucinations. Combine that with the fact they were so top of the tech line that they were hackable and reprogrammable if a person manages to crack their weak security leavin’ a person susceptible to God knows what an’ you’ll see why they had to shut their doors.”

“That sounds dangerous. And very very horrific.” Hanzo said, forcing himself to not dwell on the thought. “So why are you after it? Money? Are you going to sell it to the highest bidder?”

“Naw, ain’t about the money,” McCree replied, taking a small sip of his drink. “Heard talk that some, ah, bad folks are eyein’ swipin’ the leftovers and convertin’ ‘em into some sort of terrorist weapon.” he paused, looking at Hanzo over the lip of his glass. “I’d really rather they didn’t.”

Hanzo quirked a brow. “Which group?” He knew of a few that would be willing to sell the technology to the highest bidder. But to convert it into a weapon of destruction? Only one group came to mind.

McCree picked up his chopsticks and tried to pick up a piece of chicken. “Talon.” That was the group. The group he had grown to hate.

“Talon’s after the technology?” Hanzo asked, leaning back in his chair. “Then count on me to assist you in any way possible to keep it out of their hands.”

“That was much easier’n I thought it would be ta’ get you on-board. Figured I’d have to bribe you or somethin’.” McCree commented, the chicken slipping out from his chopsticks and falling back onto the plate. “Gotta’ vendetta against ‘em of some kind?”

“You could call it that.” Hanzo retorted with an exasperated sigh.

“Well get in line,” McCree replied, giving up and stabbing a piece of chicken with the chopstick so he could eat. “What’d they do to piss you off?”

Hanzo paused, debating the word he wanted. “Harassment.” he finally decided. “Endless harassment on a personal level, not to mention their reign of terror on a more widespread basis is deplorable.”

“Harassment?” McCree repeated slowly, using his teeth to slide the meat off the incorrectly used now skewer of necessity. He chewed slowly as he debated what harassment constituted as when it was from a terrorist group. “Care to elaborate on what that means exactly?”

“No. Not yet.” Hanzo replied quickly. “Perhaps later.”

Considering how much McCree seemed to dislike this group, Hanzo couldn’t think of a tactful way to say that they had been borderline stalking him, trying to recruit him into joining their ranks. That meant they considered him on their level. They thought him worthy of being on their side. How did one say that a terrorist group looked at him and thought he’d fit right in without implying that he was terrorist material? He wasn’t. He didn’t mean to be if he was. Being the villain of his own story was one thing, being the villain of everyone else’s was a thought far worse than he’d ever want to admit being possible.

No. No, he’d wait to tell McCree about this. Talk more later about it with him. Give him a chance to prove to McCree that he was better than them, that he wasn’t Talon material in the making. Give McCree no excuse to hate him. No excuse to leave him.

“What about you?” Hanzo asked, “Has Talon impacted you personally or are you just a natural hero-type?”

“Hmnn.” McCree hummed in thought, pressing his face against his organic hand as he thought. “They’ve come after me a bit, yeah. But I don’t really fancy myself a hero type, to be honest.”

“Says the man who’s trying to stop said terrorist group by himself,” Hanzo replied.

“Ain’t exactly trying to stop their whole group, sweet cheeks,” McCree said. “More like inconvenience ‘em for inconveniencing me.”

Hanzo found that an interesting motive. “And tell me, how do you inconvenience Jesse McCree?” he asked.

“Well, ta’ start you interrupt his hitched lil’ ride on a hyper train with a squad of elite soldiers raidin’ the place. Then you threaten civilian lives on your way to loot whatever the hell was in the caboose.” McCree said, growling at the memory, “Then you set the police fresh on his trail by somehow shifting the blame on to him, accusin’ him of robbin’ an’ murderin’ passengers an’ setting the search afresh.” He took a sip from his glass and smacked it back down on to the table. “That’s how you inconvenience Jesse McCree”

“Talon raided the civilian hyper train?” Hanzo asked. “Why exactly would they waste their time with that?” His informant had mentioned this exact scenario too. The massive difference being that the only assailant mentioned was Jesse McCree. Not Talon.

“There was something in the caboose they wanted. A glowing box thing.” McCree replied with a shrug. “Don’t really know what it was. I booted it out the back so that Talon got what they wanted and left the civs alone. That was my priority.” he shook his head. “And yet everyone who weren’t there thinks that I’m the one that attacked the train and hurt people. Can you believe those people?”

A very guilty feel crept through Hanzo. He had been one of those people. While he hadn’t entirely settled on the idea of McCree being the one to attack the train, he had certainly entertained the thought and considered it possibly plausible. Now that he knew that McCree was his Joker he just felt like a moron for even ever contemplating the sentiment.

“No. I cannot believe it. Only a fool would think that.” quietly said Hanzo the Fool.

He began picking at the bandage over the palm of his hand, a nervous tick that he couldn’t help. How stupid he had been. Even if he didn't know that his Joker was Jesse McCree, he should have realized how moronic it was to think that this was an old-fashioned train robbery as opposed to something bigger and more intricate.

He was a danger to all he cared for. A stupid threat to everyone’s wellbeing. No matter how much he tried to be a better person, he would never change. Perhaps he really was a Talon pawn in the making.

You kill people. It’s what you do

His self-dwelling was cut short when he felt warm fingers gently cup his hand and turn his palm upwards and drawing his attention back down to his hand. Now he saw that the bandage on his palm was no longer a pure white, instead edging towards a pink tinge turning into a small puddle of ruby red the closer it was to the middle. The bandage was peeling on the edges, a fact born from his picking and just general use of the hand loosening up the adhesive.

“When’d this happen?” McCree asked, fingering at the loose edges of the cloth bandage.

“Yes.” Hanzo immediately replied, his fried brain catching up to the actual question asked only a moment later. “Oh, um, it, ah, was back when- During the fight. Happened- Happened then.”

It was just one soft, gentle touch. Just one small touch. But, oh, did it feel so nice. There was no reason for him to be getting so worked up. Despite how warm McCree’s calming fingers were, and despite the kind concern in his eyes, Hanzo couldn’t help his heart picking up speed and hammering against his chest.

You tell us.

Shut up.

McCree let out a low whistle, his thumb smoothing down the loose bandage flap against Hanzo’s palm. “You got nicked real good, wolfy baby.” McCree looked up at him. “You got anything to put on it? Disinfected it? Need any cream or salve or anything?”

“I think I have it handled. It’s been disinfected. And I have something on it.” Hanzo replied with a nod. “It will just take some time to heal. Since it’s on my hand, I have no doubt that it will be reopened a time or two before it fully closes.”

“Well, you let me know if there’s anything you need me to do for ya’. Anything.” McCree said. His thumb was still lingering, casually, distractingly, stroking on Hanzo’s palm. “Your hands are important for you, an’ they are why you can do so many great, talented things. I just want to make sure you got what you need to keep them at a hundred percent.”

“I…” brain please work. “...am fine for the moment,” Hanzo replied, talking slowly so that he could ensure what was coming out of his mouth. “But I will let you know if there is any kind of assistance that you can provide.”

Jesse grinned and, after one last squeeze, pulled his hand away. “Please do.”

His hand feeling cold and lonely, Hanzo pulled it awkwardly back towards himself. He tucked it back down into his lap, then reached for his glass of water before remembering the mask prevented him from drinking, and then back down towards his lap once more.

“What were we talking about prior?” Hanzo asked, a poor attempt to deflect from himself. “I can’t seem to recall.”

“Think we were getting to the part where you talk about what your job’s about. Let’s just save ourselves some time and start back up there.” McCree said, tilting up his hat, “But, firstly, ‘fore we do, do you know if there’s a restroom around here that I can use?”

Hanzo blinked at the abrupt subject change but handled it better than he had the previous conversation. “Down the hall over that way. The men’s is on the left.” he directed as he watched McCree scoot and stand. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” McCree reassured, “Just haven’t been sleeping much lately, especially with all the assassins tailing me. Makes it hard to relax. Wanna go wash up and splash m’face. Maybe powder m’nose. Just go clean up, y’know?” he shrugged. “I’m gonna take my sweet time in there, so don’t worry if I ain’t back for a few minutes, a'ight?”

He gave a small tip of his hat before he headed in the direction that Hanzo pointed out. Hanzo watched him leave, enjoying the view before it disappeared behind a door.

Alone at the table, Hanzo waited, finding himself surprisingly caught off-guard by the abrupt abandonment. After a few minutes at the table, with nothing to distract him, he became painfully aware of how parched he was. A quick glance to the side revealed that no one was in his line of sight, and with his back to the rest of the izakaya he felt it safe to pull down his mask so he could finally quench his thirst. He grabbed the teasing glass, the condensation on the outside positively soaking his hand, as he lifted the cup up and chugged half of his drink right there.

With the realization that he could drink in peace came with the thought that he could eat as well. Keeping an eye out on the rest of the quiet room, he began to nibble on the chicken, his use of chopsticks obnoxiously fluid when compared to McCree’s slight struggles.

Oh, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the first flavorful, warm bite of meat hit his tongue. There was no hesitation in picking up a second silky bite or a third. He ate quickly, wanting to capitalize on of this time alone, away from others’ eyes. As he polished off his plate of chicken and washed it down with a quick drink, he reminded himself that McCree had said that he was going to be a few minutes. There was no real rush.

And then the thought hit him; had McCree left, promising him a few minutes of alone time, just so that he could actually eat something?

He had, hadn’t he? That was just the type of man he was. Too good for the likes of Hanzo, far too kind, far more caring more than Hanzo deserved. He hadn’t earned this. He hadn’t earned any of this.

McCree’s motive for leaving uncovered, Hanzo relaxed back against the seat. He now ate the rest of the meal at a more reasonable pace, savoring the flavor and velvety smooth texture of the meat. He finished his meal by nibbling at some of the leftover edamame, finishing his glass of water and sliding his mask back into place.

His stomach full of delicious food, he slid down into his seat and waited. It had been awhile since he had had a meal so decadent and full of flavor, so rich and heavy compared to his usual fare of granola and fruit bars. He rested his eyes as he waited, painfully aware that he was more than comfortably sated by the food, but found the present company of one lacking. He was awkwardly aware of how lonely his setting had become after McCree left, and found himself hoping that the man would return soon. Eating alone at a place, with company absent from the table, had been awkward enough. Just waiting by his lonesome was even worse.

Then he felt something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the seat across from him being empty. His eyes snapped open when he felt that something was amiss, but annoyingly he wasn’t sure what it was yet. Something felt off. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t like that they were separated. If McCree wasn’t back by the count of thirty, then Hanzo was going to fetch him.

Thankfully, McCree returned at a count of twenty-two, his bangs dripping on to his damp face from an apparent face-washing. He stood beside the table, stiffly focused on retrieving his items from the seat, though Hanzo did note his eyes flicking to the empty plates left in front of Hanzo.

“You done?” McCree asked, starting to pour what was left of the shochu into his flask. He offered the remainder to Hanzo. He seemed surprisingly hurried. Why? Had he noticed the peculiar feeling around them too?

“Yes, thank you,” Hanzo replied, pulling out his own flask and taking the rest of the alcohol for himself. It was a touch awkward to admit that, yes, he had taken full advantage of the opportunity McCree had allowed for him to eat because of a mask he’d rather not take off. At least he had played this little game of McCree’s correctly.

“Lemme square up the bill here real quick,” McCree said, pulling out his wallet. “You said you got the car, right?”

“I did. It’s down the street.” Hanzo already had his wallet out and bills in his hand. He had almost killed McCree. The very least he could do was buy the man lunch as an apology.

“Do we tip in this place?” McCree asked, glancing down at the money in Hanzo’s hand and then back to his own wallet. “I’ve forgotten what’s polite.”

Hanzo ignored the question. “ _Okaikei onegai shimasu,_ ” he called out, getting their server’s attention. The bill was brought over and held out and Hanzo snatched it before McCree could get his hands on it. He fished out enough bills and coins to cover the table charge, the food, and the drinks and handed it back to the waiter.

“There’s not much change left over, but don’t bother bringing it back,” Hanzo told him, picking up his case and his cake. “Use it to help cover someone else if they come up short, or line your own pockets if you wish. No matter your choice, our bill is paid. Thank you for the good service.”

He placed a hand on McCree’s back and began encouraging him to head for the door. There was a rush behind McCree’s words, an urging for them to move, and that was a desire that Hanzo was more than willing to indulge, especially considering he felt the same way.

He zipped up his jacket as they stepped back out into the blustery, cold day, yanking his gloves back on, as McCree jammed his hands in his pockets.

“S’ the car far?” McCree asked, pulling his hat low in an effort to shield himself from the wind.

“Down the road, at the end of the street. Not far at all.” Hanzo replied. “Are you alright?”

McCree glanced in the window as they passed by a store. He was checking the reflection, checking their surroundings subtly. “Call it a gut-feeling.” he murmured. “Something don’t feel right. Eyes on us from somewhere. Not sure where yet.”

“A feeling wise to act upon,” Hanzo reassured him, casting his own look around. The world was quiet, still, and the sky gray. Something still felt uneasy, the dragons growing curiously tense as well. What around them was causing this? “This way. Quickly.”

Hanzo and McCree both sped up, though Hanzo had to double-time his normal pace to keep up with McCree’s long, lanky stride. He threaded the ignition key between his knuckles, hiding the keys in his pocket, in case he needed a makeshift weapon. His bow and arrows were in his guitar case, there was no quick or subtle way to retrieve them. If he needed an instant attack, more instant than the sheathed knife on his hip, the keys were more available than any of his other tools. McCree would have his gun. They would have a small defense ready, should they need it.

The walk to the car was much faster than Hanzo’s earlier one from it. He beeped the car with the fob, unlocking the doors as they approached the vehicle the small four-door sports car Hanzo had rented.

I’ll drive,” McCree said, sliding into the left side’s seat, already reaching for the steering wheel. His hands found nothing but air, the dashboard in front of him empty.

Hanzo sitting in the actual driver’s seat, on the right side of the car, looked at him with a cocked brow as he slipped the keys into the ignition, silently starting the car as he slung his guitar case into the back room.

“Oh, right. I forgot.” McCree sheepishly grinned. “We’re in Japan.”

“That we are.” Hanzo agreed, strapping himself in. “I see you really did help your Helix friend with Geography when she was younger.  Very good.”

McCree gave a quiet chuckle threw his bags into the back, yanking his own seatbelt down. “One of these times I’m gonna drive you around. For real.”

“Perhaps, one of these times, you’ll be sober enough to,” Hanzo replied.

“Ouch,” McCree said jokingly, the dramatic wounded hand clasp to his chest cut off by a cake be handed to him. “If you think that lil’ rice drink’s enough to get me completely drunk then you don’t know me very well.”

Hanzo shrugged. “Then perhaps I should get to know you better.”

A cheeky grin broke out on McCree’s face, his more risque line of thinking obvious despite his cordially-worded reply. “Yeah, maybe you should.”

Hanzo replied with a pair of raised brows, instead focusing on pulling out of the parking lot and getting them on to the road. The road wasn’t terribly busy, but it did take a few minutes of navigating traffic to get them towards the main roads.

McCree began to pull out a box of cigarettes. As he tugged a cigarette free from the package, Hanzo tsked at him, making him pause as he turned to see what the noise was about. “I had to put a deposit down on the rental,” Hanzo explained. “No smoking in the vehicle, please.  Otherwise I won't get the deposit back.”

“Ah,” McCree replied understandingly, dropping the cigarette back into the case. He fumbled a bit, seemingly stalling for a second before he put his things away. “So, ah-” McCree started, pausing as he mentally ironed out what he wanted to say. “-You never did get to tell me about that, um, job of yours, which is my fault, I know. D’ya wanna tell me about it?”

Hanzo’s eyes flicked towards the side-mirror as he gauged the traffic around them. A car had been following them since they left the bar. He would be sure to pay attention to it. “You don’t have to be involved. I can handle it on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, darlin’,” McCree drawled, taking a gander up at the rearview mirror on his side. “I’m just wondering what’s got you so fumed that you traveled to Japan to handle it. Much as I’d like to assume otherwise, I’m gonna say that you didn’t hop on a plane just for lil’ ol me, right? You did mention something about coming here when we were in Vegas, didn’t ya’?”

“No, yes, I was already in Japan,” Hanzo confirmed, glancing at the side mirror once more. He sighed. “McCree, I will tell you about what I am here to do later. First, please let me lose this car that seems to be tailing us.”

McCree cocked a brow. “You think they’re after us too?” He had noticed the car as well it seemed.

“Only one way to find out.” Hanzo casually replied, yanking on the wheel and taking sharp turn. He cut across traffic and began heading up a narrow side road. The black car made a clumsy attempt at following the abrupt shift, getting honked at by the many cars they cut off. As Hanzo turned off the side-road, heading into a parking lot that he could maneuver in, he saw the black car racing up the straightaway towards them.

“Yup, seems like they’re after us,” McCree said with a shrug. He glanced Hanzo’s way. “You think they’re after you or me?”

“Why would they be after me?” Hanzo asked as he sped down a straightaway. He certainly hoped they weren’t after him. It would be harder to get a drop on the clan if they knew just how close he actually was.

“Well, golly, darlin’. I dunno.” McCree replied, watching the mirror. “Why would they be going after you, I wonder?”

Hanzo couldn’t help a quick glance at McCree, peering at the man out of the corner of his eye. What was he saying? How much did he know? He had to inquire further if only to quiet his thoughts. “Are you implying anything in particular?”

McCree chuckled good-naturedly. “O. I don’t know even a hair’s width about you. Hell, I don’t even know the lower half of your face looks like. I ain’t got jack squat to imply about, ‘cept what I can see.” McCree told him. “All I can imply for sure is that I think you’re too smart for your own good, that you could probably strangle me with single-arm bicep throat hold, though I’d be fine with it ‘cause it’d be like a hug from a good-lookin’ fella, just a kinda deadly one for m’throat, and that your eyeliner’s amazing.”

“Probably. Probably, but I wouldn’t. And definitely.” Hanzo replied, tackling each of the implications individually as he raced the car towards the highway. If this was going to turn into a fight, he wanted to be out of the city limits. Fewer casualties. “Is your seatbelt on?”

“Oh, not this again.” McCree sighed playfully. “Yes, sir, buckled it as soon as I sat down. I know better this time.”

“Is it locked?” Hanzo asked as he weaved in and out of traffic. The last thing he wanted was for McCree to end up flying out of the windshield, should an accident happen. With him driving, it was extremely unlikely there would be an accident, he was too good a driver for that, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Ahm...” McCree hummed a reply, stalling before he answered. He tugged at the belt, pulling it away from him until it went taut and then letting it snap back to his body. “Of course it is. What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“A secure one, for starters.” Okami quipped as he cut across two lanes towards an exit. As basic as these maneuvers were, the other car never seemed to catch on, instead drifting a good distance back. “They're rather far back. Not the best drivers I've had to outmaneuver.”

“Well, that is good…” McCree mused, tickled by Okami’s phrasing. Of course, he didn't just escape them, no, he outmaneuvered them. God, he loved this man. “Kinda, I guess.”

“What? Why only kind of good? Is this too dull for you?” Okami teased, booking it as he raced along the quieter road. “Shall I slow down and give them a chance?”

“No, O, that's not what I meant,” McCree replied, glancing at the mirror as the car behind them careened their way, taking advantage of the straight road to floor it. “In a profession based on skill, no one hires mediocre. Those two have got to be the last ones out of the fourteen you told me about. No one hired for that job has been a slouch. If they ain't the best drivers, then they’re probably pretty good at something else -”

There was a crash against the back windshield, the glass spider-webbing out into thin and thick cracks.  The boom of another round of shots being fired echoed through the air.  Both men looked at each other with widened eyes, though McCree's mouth kept casually chatting away.

“- Say shooting, for example.” McCree finished, already pulling his gun out of its holster as he cracked open the window. He whipped around, intending to fire back, but the seatbelt did its job and kept him in place. With a growl, McCree's hand flew down to the buckle, but he paused before he unstrapped himself. “Permission to unbuckle?” he asked Hanzo. He wasn't too keen on getting another scolding like before.

Okami took a moment to debate, ignoring the next three bullets that whizzed by, humming thoughtfully as he weighed the cons versus the pros of unbuckling the seatbelt before he made his choice. “Permission granted.”

“Thank you kindly,” McCree replied, unbuckling the seatbelt and maneuvering himself for better aim. He sat backward in the chair, his right shoulder out the window as he fired back. As he popped three shots back, their pursuer slowed for a moment, swerving like mad, but sped up immediately and gained ground, fighting to pull up next to them.

“Pull back in,” Okami warned him. “The road curves ahead.”

McCree finished off the clip, cracking their window and painting their hood with holes, chasing them back behind before he ducked back inside.

McCree huffed as he turned back in his seat. “Peacekeeper’s not got enough oomph to beat out the wind.” Glaring back at the car through the rearview mirror, inspiration struck. “O! Hey, O.” he called excitedly. “I got an idea.”

“Well, we could certainly use an idea right about now,” Okami replied. “Especially one of yours, which is…?”

“You still got that rifle in your case?”

“Yes,” Okami replied slowly, “But it's disassembled for...ease of transportation.” Ease of transportation aka smuggling it into the country undetected. McCree knew what he meant. Same difference really.

“Oh, that's fine. I know how to reassemble a sniper rifle.” McCree reassured him, already turning in his seat and going for the guitar case. “All the pieces in here?”

“Yes,” Okami replied. “In the lid. Under the felt. Tear it out if you need to, I can always put it back down later.”

McCree popped the case open and peeled away at the felt. The pieces were propped in between thin, carved foam, creating a smooth base in the lid. Unless someone knew to look under the felt, those rifle pieces were well-hidden. Apparently, Okami was crafty in more ways than one.

McCree piled the pieces into his lap and began screwing everything together. His hands made quick work of the assembly. Ana had made him take apart and then reassemble rifles when she was training him. To know your weapon inside and out will a better marksman make, she had said. She’d been right. With his constant want to beat the timer, McCree had earned himself the second fastest time on the clock, trailing behind the legendary Amari.

“You do know how to use a sniper rifle, yes?” Okami asked, tense as he was forced maneuver around a pair of slow cars, weaving right and then left as he sped past. “I know you’ve mentioned it in the past, but a past skill is much different than present abilities...”

‘Nah, don’t worry, honey.” McCree replied, screwing the barrel into place. “I know how to shoot a rifle.”

“That’s hardly commendable. Even but a babe can pull a trigger.” Okami growled. “I wasn’t asking if you could shoot a rifle, McCree. I was asking if you can aim one.”

Well, that was saucy. Was Okami biting back because he was worried? There wasn’t much to worry about. These guys were good, but he and Okami were better. The concern was touching, though. It was nice to know that Okami cared.

“Oh, honeybunch, don’t you worry a bit,” McCree said, sliding the scope into place, listening for that satisfying click of a zero position. “If there’s anything that I’m best at, it’s aiming.”

“Second best perhaps.” Okami retorted. “You forget who you ride with.”

“Now I like to be agreeable, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to kick up a fuss about you sliding me into the second position against my consent,” McCree said, slipping his hat off and tossing it into the back. “‘Course, there’s an easy way to prove who’s silver and who’s gold: a shooting contest.”

“I’d wager my bow against your rifle any day.” Okami playfully scoffed, his tone a stark contrast to his tense form.

“Maybe later,” McCree said, shifting in his seat and leaning towards the window. He carefully propped the gun up as his upper body poked out the window, taking aim. “We’ve got work to do.”

The crack of a shot rang out, and the other car’s windshield shattered. The gun bucked high. McCree hadn’t been ready for just how powerful the shot would be, hadn’t braced himself well enough, forgotten what it was like to use a rifle like this. It wasn’t a mistake he would make again.

The next shot popped a tire, just like he had wanted, but the other driver seemed deadset on the chase, careening down the road on nothing but a rim. That was gonna screw up the car real bad.

“I’m going to have to slow down,” Okami called to him. “Two semis ahead, blocking both lanes.”

McCree turned, gauging the road ahead. Okami was right, two semis, one in each lane. Slowing down would spell disaster though, with an easy pull-up from their pursuer. If they had a rapid-fire weapon then they’d easily be able to outgun McCree’s revolver and Okami’s rifle. Their own weapons sacrificed speed for power and efficiency, but one good bullet wouldn’t necessarily save them from a hail of shots.

This could be bad.

There was a gap between the trucks ahead, just thin enough for their small car to fit through. That move right there would be stupid. Dangerous. Potentially deadly. That move right there could crush them if the trucks shifted towards the inner lanes. That move right there could kill them if it went wrong.

That move right there was their only choice.

“Floor it an’ thread the needle, O.” he called to the front. “Fit us through the gap.”

“You want me to-.” Okami paused, eyeing the space between the trucks. “No.”

“Yes,” McCree replied, ducking back inside the vehicle. “We can make this work. I trust you, O. I’ve trusted you before and I’ll trust you now… D’ya trust me?”

There was a moment that Okami didn’t speak, where he kept a consistent speed and silently stared at the blockade ahead.

“Unfortunately...” Okami sighed. “I do.”

The three words were spoken and the gas pedal was floored. If McCree had still been hanging out the window, he would have been killed by how close the sides of the semis were as they scraped against the side of the car. They raced towards the thin gap and Okami maneuvered through it with tense expertise.

The car behind them continued to mirror their movements, too scared to let them out of their sight, just as McCree had planned for. They also attempted to squeeze through the gap behind McCree and Hanzo, and though their car did fit they were at a stark disadvantage: they went second.

As soon as Okami cleared the gap between the two trucks, McCree immediately popped back out the window, locking his sights on to the passenger and firing. The straight shot they had lined themselves up for hit its mark, and a bloom of red burst against the barely there windshield.

If he had taken down the driver and handled this the easy way, this chase would be over. But if he had taken out the driver, the risk of collateral damage had been too high Two semis crashing could create a domino effect of death for the drivers behind them. By taking out the passenger the car still had someone in control and it wouldn’t spin out and hurt anyone else, but it would limit the shots fired and hopefully send a message.

If this man was smart, he’d back off and escape with his life. As the engine continued to roar, McCree sighed. That man’s momma hadn’t raised no quitter, but boy golly had she sure raised a fool.

“You planning on getting off the highway anytime soon?” McCree asked, ducking back in as pistol shots were now fired their way. The sooner they broke away from the busy roads, the better.

“We do get off soon. Next exit or two, I think.” Okami reassured him. “But then we hit mountain ranges as we approach our destination. High speeds and mountains do not mix.” He glanced McCree’s way, out of the corner of his eye. “Does your idea go this far or do we need to create a plan B right now?”

McCree hummed in thought a moment before he answered. “Depends. We got any sharp curves coming up?”

“Yes. In the next couple turns or so once we’re on the mountain.” Okami replied, merging towards their exit lane.

“Then I’ve got you covered.” McCree replied. “I’m gonna need you to speed through the turn and then slam on the brakes once we’re a ways down other side. Just lemme know when the turn comes up.”

“Speed through a sharp turn on a mountain,” Okami repeated flatly, his voice as dead as his tired eyes. “Of course. Why not. We just flirted with death a moment ago, why not take her a second date?”

“See now, that’s my kind of thinkin’.” McCree grinned.

“Your kind of thinking is going to give me a heart attack.” Okami murmured.

Their chatter died down as McCree prepared himself for this next step. It was a crucial move he had to pull off. If he messed this up then they were screwed.

Okami was the first to break the silence a few minutes later. “A turn’s coming up here in just a moment. Brace yourself.”

He sped the vehicle up, per McCree’s wishes, careening around the turn. The wheels skidded along the paved road, with debris flying down the mountain as the wheels skirted along the edge. If someone had been coming the other way, they would have collided, most likely killing them both. Thankfully, the road was a quiet one.

There was a squeal of brakes as Okami stopped the car, the next part of the plan, and McCree braced just enough to keep himself from being thrown around. As soon as the vehicle began to slow, he took aim out the window.

The roar of the engine grew closer, louder, the roar near deafening as it poked out from around the mountain. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation from McCree. As soon as the front of the car was around the mountain, and the driver in sight, he took the shot.

Red exploded in the front seat and the car spun out, hesitating only a moment on the edge of the road before it plummeted over the edge of the cliff and down to the rocky, barren land below. There was a small explosion and a small plume of smoke began rising from the disaster only a moment later.

McCree took a second to breathe. If that shot had been half a second too late the car would have made the turn and rammed against their trunk. Half a second too early and he would have missed, making them sitting ducks to be rammed off the edge or filled with bullets.

It didn’t matter. He made the shot.

Okami seemed to realize the situation as well. His breaths were quick, and a slight tremor worked its way down his body.

Right as McCree was about to open his mouth and ask Okami if he was okay, the man spoke. “I’m not getting my deposit back, am I?” he asked quietly, glancing up at the ruined rearview mirrors and looking at the cracked and mauled back windshield.

“...Probably not.” McCree agreed slowly. “D’ya want me to drive, O?”

“No. I- no. No. It’ll be easier if I do it. I know where we’re going. You don’t. I don’t wish to try to give directions right now.” Okami replied, hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I just need a moment. Or two.”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” McCree said, keeping his ears sharp as he listened for any approaching cars. There were none, thankfully. The dull purr of the highway a ways back and the soft breeze blowing through the trees were the only sounds around. “Where are we going exactly?”

The look Okami sent his way made it clear that he preferred that his moment of recovery be a silent one. McCree wised up and quieted down, leaning back against his seat as he waited, becoming aware of how heavily his heart was pounding now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He could use some calming down of his own too.

Closing his eyes, he focused on trying to steady his heart rate. Follow Reyes’ mantra. Be as steady as a rock, strong as an oak, and stand as tall as a mountain. Bend but don’t break. Survival is a struggle, but one well earned. Earn your wins. Success means you suck less. Be the you that makes your future self proud. Be the hero the world needs, not the one it deserves.

_“We can make a difference again! The world needs us now, more than ever!”_

Not now, monkey.

Breathe. Relax. They had survived and they were alive. There was nothing more to fear. Before McCree finished calming himself down completely, the car began moving once more. Okami must have been ready to get a move on.

“We have about thirty more miles north to go, I believe.” Okami finally responded. “The room I arranged for is at a small, nice motel that I have stayed with before many times, a place that seemed like a fair middle ground for both of us. Your job is to the north of it, mine is to the south. I’ll deal with mine first tomorrow, and then we turn around and head north for yours.”

“Sounds fair enough,” McCree replied, cracking an eye open and glancing Hanzo’s way as he rebuckled his seatbelt. “So… You ever gonna tell what this job of yours is?”

“If it’s alright with you, I would rather not talk about it right now. I would like to focus on driving.” Hanzo said, wincing as his hand twitched on the wheel, “Considering you are a passenger in a vehicle I am driving along a mountain, I would think that you would like me to focus on driving as well.”

“S’alright. I’m a patient man, O. I can wait.” McCree said, closing both his eyes again. “You just do what you gotta do to get us where we need to go.”

“Your patience will be rewarded,” Hanzo assured him. “But only after we reach our destination… Oh, and Jesse?”

Now his eyes were open. His name sounded good on Okami’s lips, assuming he had lips. ‘ _Oh and Jesse?_ ' Oh and damn near anything he wanted.

“Yes, beautiful?” Jesse asked, a happy flirtatious smile on his lips, one that was missed as Okami stayed focused on the road. Damn his penchant for safe driving. That look had been killer.

“You can smoke now if you’d like,” Okami said. “..I don’t think I’m getting my deposit back.”

McCree let out an amused sigh, reaching back for his bag. This time he had a cigarette retrieved in a smooth motion, lighting it and slipping it between his puckered lips. “Guess I’ll distract myself with the view for a bit,” McCree said, sinking into his seat, his feet propped up on the dashboard, as he began puffing on the cigarette. “Let me know if you get tired of focusing on just driving and want to chat or anything. I’m here if you need me, but I’ll be quiet if you don’t.”

McCree was true to his word. He somehow managed to stay quiet for the rest of the drive, occupying himself with disassembling the rifle, putting it back in the case, and then just leaning back against his chair and staring out the window as he smoked.

Perhaps it was for the best that neither of them attempt to forget the incident through mindless prattle. It would only serve to annoy them both. Words born from a moment of frustration had a tendency to be as unkind as they were unnecessary.

Hanzo knew that they were getting close to the city when the flora and fauna around them slowly shifted to small buildings and roads filled with traffic lights. The dirt road turned into a paved path, an occasional pothole in the way. There was a side of this city that was glitzy and busy, but that wasn’t the side of the city they were heading into. They would be stopping in a quiet neighborhood, the downtown area, a quirky, convenient destination that the locals could appreciate but not a spot sought after by tourists.

As they entered the city’s limits, McCree finally spoke. “So where’d you learn to drive like that anyway?” he asked. “Ain’t all too often I run into a man comfortable going that fast let alone one that can handle the speed.”

“I can handle fast,” Hanzo reassured him. “I didn’t not really...learn driving exactly the normal way.”

“Is there a normal way to learn high-speed motor escapes?” McCree asked rhetorically.

“No, I suppose not,” Hanzo said as he stopped at the stop light. “I’m...what’s the phrase? Self-educated when it comes to driving.”

“You mean you taught yourself how to dip and dodge at eighty miles an hour?”

“No, that’s not what I-. Well. Yes…” Okami replied. “But what I meant was more that I taught myself to drive. Every aspect of it.” He paused. “I do have a license, and while it is official, it was not gotten in the most legal fashion considering that I was illegally driving to learn how to...drive.”

“So you really did teach yourself every bit of how to drive?” McCree asked. “Even the slow stuff?”

“Even the slow stuff,” he said with a nod.

“Well, damn. And here I was hoping to go to the school of badass driving I was sure that you graduated from.” McCree said, making no effort to hide how impressed he was. “You learned all that just through experience?”

“Mmm hmm.” Okami nodded. “They didn’t want me to learn how. No one would show me. They wanted me dependent. I taught myself later, once I found how wonderfully sweet independence tasted to an unknowing tongue.-”

McCree remembered that Okami had mentioned fleeing from a culty-thing back in Arizona. A place he had run from, a place that he seemed hesitant to even recall. A place where there was blood on his hands and thoughts that weren’t his and apparently independence was denied. What sort of hell was that?

If nothing else, McCree was glad that he had managed to escape and make his own path. He was glad that the two of them had met.

“-I finally took the plunge one day and began to teach myself how… some years ago.” Okami’s brow crinkled as he tried to gauge his timeline. “I just became fed up with having to rely on public transportation and being slowed down by my own incompetence. The slow driving was easy to glean from solo practice. The speedier maneuvers came through learning from more unfortunate experiences.”

“Unfortunate experiences? You get chased a lot, you mean?” McCree asked. Okami’s face grew neutral and he didn’t look McCree’s way. This topic was a done conversation, even if McCree was left without an answer.

Instead of letting the conversation die flat, McCree tried to stoke it back up another way. “I used to live on a farm with m’granparents. They were getting up in age, bless them, so I did as much work as I could ta’ help them out around the farm, especially when my gran’pa had to go to town for a bit. Ended up learning how to drive the truck ‘fore I was ten years old. Ended up doing some smugglin’ back in Deadlock, drivin’ the trucks an’ shit by the time I was fourteen. Didn’t actually get a real license until I was twenty-two, ‘cause my boss wouldn’t let me get one until I got my GED. Was nice to get somethin’ with my name on it, somethin’ that was mine.”

“A GED?” Okami asked, carefully turning onto a side road. It seemed like he knew this city, or at least he was familiar with it.

“A high school diploma,” McCree explained. “An’ considerin’ I hadn’t gone to a school since the fourth grade, boy howdy jim, I had a lot of catching up to do.”

Okami spared him a curious glance, taking advantage of a red light. “Why didn’t you go to school when you were younger, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My ma ended up gettin’ kinda sick an’ my pa needed me to help take care of her while he was at work. It was only supposed to be a temporary thing, but it ended up being kinda permanent after she died.” McCree said with a shrug. “My Gran’ma and pa lived too far out in the desert for me goin’ to school to make sense, so I made do. Learned a lot of things that school ain’t gonna teach no one. Life skills, you might call it. Things you can’t pick up from a book.”

“Like how to kill five men in a second flat, like you did to the Red Monkey gang?” Okami asked. “That hardly seems a normal life skill to acquire.”

“Guess it depends on the cards you get dealt,” McCree replied. “Though, to be fair, deadeye’s a skill that came with a hell of a lot of practice.”

“Deadeye?” Hanzo repeated. “That’s what you call it? What is a deadeye exactly?”

“S’where I, ah, need a second or two ta’ see all my targets and gauge where they are. That focus from that rapid lockin’ on can cause a hell of a migraine so I don’t use it all the time. But that gauging helps me prepare my line of shots ta’ take, lettin’ me empty a clip in a second flat.” McCree answered. “There's a reason that I'm called a gunslinger, an’ that's ‘cause my shots don't miss.”

“Ah, that’s what… That makes much more sense.” Okami mused, just loud enough for McCree to hear.

“What makes more sense?” he asked, confused by the statement.

“I thought that moniker of gunslinger was a warning of sorts,” Okami said, seeming a bit flummoxed that he had been heard. “That if you ran out of bullets you would throw your gun at them next. The speed and aiming bit make much more sense.”

“You thought- that I- you thought that-” McCree choked on his own laughter, fighting to speak through his chuckling. “You thought that the gunslinging part was actually about slinging the gun… oh my Lord. That's adorable.”

“No, it's a deceptive name. Sharpshooter would be a much better and more accurate terminology. Gunslinger is- It’s not-...I-...” Okami countered quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “...I am not adorable.”

“Okay.” McCree said with a shrug and a sly grin, “If that’s what you wanna go with, okay. I hear ya’, pumpkin. You sure as shit ain’t adorable at all, no siree. Not a whit. What was I thinking?”

Hanzo stared ahead at the road for a moment before he responded. “...I feel as if you’re mocking me.”

“Mocking? No. Never. Teasing? Hell. Yeah.” McCree replied, his spurs jingling as he rested his feet on the dash. The same feet that had probably trampled his cake in the chase with all the shifting around he had been doing. It was a shame, but only a small one. At least they were still alive. Mostly.

“You’ve been much more forward as of late,” Hanzo commented, dragging his attention back to the road. “Why? Did you forget how to be subtle once you donned the chaps and the spurs?”

“I, ah-” McCree stuttered in surprise. Was Hanzo not supposed to have noticed how aggressive the flirtations had gotten? Then what was the point? “I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ lately, O. Being chased by fourteen mercenaries makes you rethink some things about your life.” His voice was low. Serious. All guise of playfulness dissipating for something more somber. This had to be important.

“What things?” Hanzo said hesitantly. What sort of things could knock flat the endless teasing from his Joker?

“I already knew how much I hated bein’ alone. I’ve known that feeling for years. It just felt so raw after Arizona, after you an’ I split.” McCree explained, pulling his hat down and shielding his face. “But while I was being hunted, an’ I could have died any minute, I realized I had some regrets. One of those was letting you walk away without telling you what-... Telling you that-... Without you knowing how much you mattered to me.”

“I knew that,” Hanzo replied, glancing his way, wondering if that was what he was supposed to say. It was the truth. “Or at least, I assumed it to be.”

“But did you know how I really felt?” McCree asked sincerely, resting his head back against the seat as he looked Hanzo’s way with a look of longing in his eyes. “Did you know how much I adored you? How amazing I think you are?”

How much I love you? was the obvious unspoken question from McCree’s speech, if he were to infer between the lines. He didn’t. Hanzo didn’t want to risk an assumption ruining them both. Even if the look on McCree’s face told him everything he could have wanted to know.

“I didn’t know then,” Hanzo admitted, flexing his hands on the wheel. “But I do now.”

“That’s what I thought. And I want to make sure that you know just how much you matter to me.” McCree said. “I’ve admired you for a while, O, even ‘fore you would talk to me. Your skill an’ your sense of justice an’ you talk so pretty an’ how fuckin’ gorgeous you are, I….I didn’t want to chase you off but I’ve been flirtin’ up a storm to test the waters an’-...an’ you’re still here.” He gave a quiet, almost desperate laugh. “And I don’t know if that’s ‘cause you’re too polite ta’ just up an’ leave with all my botherin’ you or if that’s your way of tellin’ me I’ve got a chance and I just-...I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

This confession caught Hanzo completely off-guard. The words were so heartfelt, so lonely, so longing yet so distant, as if McCree was scared to close the gap. It was raw, the most emotional thing McCree had talked about since his breakdown back in Arizona. His heart was pinned onto his shoulder and McCree was bracing for it to be used like a target, for it was as unguarded as McCree seemed to be afraid.

This admission wasn’t something that Hanzo could brush off or ignore, not without hurting Jesse. He had to respond something, with something as close to the truth as he would allow himself to say. Even if he was ill-prepared to handle this genuine, heartfelt confession, he had to close the emotional gap that was a potential threat to them.

“Don’t be. Don’t apologize..” Hanzo responded immediately. “Don’t. There’s no need. I-... I do like this. I enjoy the flirtation. I am-...I have told you that I’m not the best when it comes to emotions, and that includes reciprocation. I didn’t realize that with you reciprocation was needed, I just assumed you would- I didn’t realize that you ever feel like you had to cease and-” Hanzo gulped, feeling as if he was struggling to articulate what he actually wanted to say. It was all coming out wrong. It was so hard to think right now. “But it- _this_  is not me being too polite to leave. I am not-...not that-... _generous_  with my time. If I was bothered, I would have left already. But I won’t leave. Because it’s _you_  that’s bothering me. And because it’s you that means it’s not a bother at all.”

It may not have been the grandest, most eloquent statement to ever leave Hanzo’s mouth, but it seemed to have done its job. There was smile back on McCree’s face. Good, it was back where it belonged. He had missed it.

“Oh thank goodness. O, you wonderful man.” McCree breathed, melting down into the seat. “Tell me if the flirtin’ ever gets to be too much and I’ll pull back on the reins. Don’t wanna pressure you none.”

“Don’t worry. I doubt it will. Besides, how could I say no to my favorite gunslinger?” Hanzo teased, his eyes alight with mischief. “Of course, you are the only gunslinger I’ve ever met, so the competition for that title isn’t that high at the moment.”

“Uh huh, okay. Be straight with me, O.” McCree said. “You ever think you’ll meet another gunslinger that’ll bump me outta the top spot?”

“No. Never,” Hanzo said. “You, Jesse McCree, are the only gunslinger that I will ever want in my life. No others could ever compare.”

“Aw, shucks.” McCree’s face grew rosy at Hanzo’s words and he pulled at the brim of his hat. “Now I get the feeling that you’re teasing me.”

“But of course,” Hanzo responded. “One good poke deserves another. I let no one who dare tease me escape unscathed.”

“With as good as you are, I doubt many can escape unscathed,” McCree said conversationally.

_“You kill people. It’s what you do.”_

The words echoed through his mind and his enthusiasm bottomed out, plummeting into the pit of growing despair. He hadn’t earned this moment of happiness. This shouldn’t be his. He didn’t deserve this.

He didn’t deserve any of this.

Hanzo let the topic lapse into a silent lull, too distracted by the replay in his head to continue with the banter. McCree let the topic fall as well. He had said his piece, he didn’t need to push.

Aware that the car had fallen into an awkward silence, Hanzo attempted to start up with a new topic. One that he wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of. One that would distract him from this stinging pain. “You said you got an education because of your boss, yes?” Hanzo asked. “I take it you don’t mean your boss back at Deadlock because you said you were busted when you were seventeen. Where did you go from there? Is boss a nickname for someone or do you mean your actual supervisor?”

“Oh, uh, both in a sense, I guess. Called Gabe ‘my boss’ at a lot because, well, he was and he hated me callin’ him that, so it was a win-win kind of wordin’.” McCree answered, looking up as he thought back to another time. “Gabriel Reyes was the head of the group that busted Deadlock. He cut a deal with me back in the interrogation room: straighten up and work for his team, or enjoy a life in prison and found out just how ‘popular’ my type really is.”

Hanzo’s eyes turned stony as he realized what McCree had said. “He bullied you into indentured servitude under the threat of a life behind bars if refused?” he asked slowly, his words laced with an underlying venom. He knew of men that would prey on those less fortunate and manipulate them; he had been raised by ones like them.

“No. No no- O, buddy, don’t you put words in m’mouth.” McCree said. “Gabe worked with the government. Not just anyone could get on his squad, an’ the only reason the offer was bein’ made was 'cause I was good enough to mow down four of his agents on my own. This wasn’t any kind of forced slavery shit, O, he was givin’ me a second chance I never woulda’ had otherwise, a chance I didn’t deserve. Spend the rest of my life behind bars or let myself be taught how to do somethin’ good for the world. He saw fired-up potential in an uncontrolled burn, an’ he kindled it ‘steada’ snuffin’ it out. Wasn’t a ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ kinda situation; it was someone reaching down an’ offerin’ me a chance outta the hole I dug for m’self.”

Was that truly the case? Then that wasn’t as bad as he had assumed. “I believe I read the situation incorrectly and spoke without thinking. Please accept my apology.” Hanzo said.

“Ain’t nothing to apologize for.” McCree waved his words off. “Just wanted to make sure that you didn’t paint Gabe as a bad guy, ‘cause he was a very good man, even though not a lot of people think it.”

Hanzo wasn’t sure that he could place this Gabriel Reyes as a “good person” in his mind quite yet. He himself had grown up with choices being forced upon him, with the option he was supposed to pick and another horrible option offered so that he had the illusion of freedom despite being nothing but a puppet. While McCree seemed certain that he had been given the freedom of choice, and blessed with an offer undeserved, Hanzo couldn’t accept it. Not fully, not yet.

He wished to, though. He did want to believe Jesse and his positive view of the situation, and he wanted to align himself with the view enough to support it fully. Perhaps if he asked McCree to recount his time back with this Gabriel Reyes, and hear just what the man was life, he could more wholeheartedly believe that Jesse’s case he been one of ease of stipulation and not under the guise of manipulation.

“Tell me more about this Gabriel Reyes.” Hanzo felt like he knew the name somehow. It was irritating how he couldn’t place it. “Surely a man willing to not only gamble on a Deadlock brat but force him to better himself with education must have some interesting stories you could share.”

McCree’s grin widened as he leaned back against his seat. “Interesting stories? Hoo boy, yessiree. I got plenty of tales to tell about a legend known as Gabriel Reyes.” he said, propping his hat up. “He wore a black beanie all the damn time-”

“Was he as emotionally connected to it as a certain cowboy was his hat?” Hanzo asked with a shaky breath. He steadied his breathing immediately. He had to.

-Ah ha, no. Not quite. My love for my hat is on a level not many reach, though Gabe did come close.” McCree said with a chuckle. “Nah, see, I thought he wore it all the time ‘cause he was a tough guy, y’know? Turns out it was a gift from his mother. He grew up in California with his folks, but when she caught wind that the military was taking him to Europe, she got him the hat to keep his head warm, ‘cause she didn't want him to get sick. Ain't that the sweetest thing you ever done heard?”

“That is sweet, yes.” Hanzo agreed with a masked smile. “I assume he and his mother were close then?”

“He wrote her every week up until the day he died,” McCree replied. “Always spoke so fondly of her too. She raised basically from what I heard. Tough ass man, don't get me wrong, but he was a softie on the inside.”

“He died?” Hanzo asked, rubbing the back of his hand against his brow, wiping away the beading sweat.

Typically sons didn’t pass earlier than their parents. Odd. Though in McCree’s and Reyes’ line of work, then perhaps it wasn’t.

“Yeah, he was killed in an explosion back at the main base. There was a mole inside the base, at least that was his theory. A lot of shit had been going down, whispers in the halls, talk of rebellion against Jack. Gabe had been trying to monitor it; I’ve no doubt that whoever the mole was rigged the explosion to take him and Jack out. If the two of them had free time, or shit to discuss, then that meant that they were together, even with the lil’ bit fighting going on between ‘em.”

A Jack? Jack… Where had Hanzo seen that name recently? Jack… Jack…

“Jack Marieyes.” Hanzo murmured. He had to take another long moment to make his brain think where he had seen that name. “That was your handle back in the states. Did you name yourself after your two mentors?”

“Not two,” Jessie replied. “Three. Jack _A_. Marieyes. Jack for Jack, Reyes for Reyes, and Mrs. Amari thrown right into the mix for good measure.” He tilted his hat up with his thumb, casting Hanzo a look out of the corner of his eyes. “Now how did you know that was my handle back in ‘Zona? You swore you didn’t look in m’bags, O-”

“And I didn’t,” Hanzo replied quickly, turning down a road towards a small hotel. “But the kitchen had an abundance of reflective surfaces. If you think I wasn’t reading every single name that was reflected from that electronic pad, then you’ve underestimated me.”

“Yeah, I guess-” McCree cut himself off to defend himself. “Y’know, it’s not that I ever underestimate you on purpose. It’s more like you’re always exceeding all of my expectations, and they ain’t exactly low. Only reason I underestimate you is because you’re more amazing than think I realize.”

“Your flattery is flattering, and I’m certain I would be blushing if my blood were not running elsewhere, and your tales of your acquaintances have been the distraction I needed. While I would love to hear more, we’re at our hotel.” Hanzo neatly parked the car in a space barely outlined by faded paint. “Allow me to get us checked in.” He popped open the car door and stepped outside “I’ll be right back.”

McCree slouched in his seat, his tongue skirting along the inside of his lower lip as he grinned. It was one thing to have Okami mention that he enjoyed hearing about McCree’s make-do family because Lord knows that McCree liked talking about them. No, what had really caught McCree’s attention was the blood comment, a surprisingly crass insight from someone like Okami. Maybe his confession earlier had been arousing somehow? ‘Cause there were two places a man’s blood could travel; out his body or down to his crotch, and a man didn’t just lose blood from his veins on command-

McCree took a glance out the passenger’s side door, taking a quick glance at Okami before the man popped into the small lobby, his focus dropping down the sun reflecting off of something caught his attention. He jerked as his eyes roamed over Okami’s side of the car.

Oh. Shit.

The black leather steering wheel was shimmering in the sun. That didn’t look like sweat glossing the wheel, not with those gloves covering his hands. Besides, Okami wasn’t a clammy hand person, not with his weapon being a bow and arrow; he couldn’t be. That looked more… gelatinous than the slick of sweat. It looked like-

Curious, McCree reached out and ran a finger across the steering wheel and took a glance at the tip. Red and sticky. The steering wheel was covered in blood.

The driver’s seat was too, there was a small puddle in his chair, spread only by the shifting he had been doing in his seat. Where his legs were was mostly clear, save for where his weight dipped the seat. That dip from his wonderful thighs had created a nice ravine for the blood to flow. Leaning forward, he could see that blood had pooled onto the rubber car mat, and Okami’s shoes had left imprints from when his soles had stepped into the blood.

That hadn’t been dirty talk coming out of Okami’s mouth, that had been him informing McCree that he was injured and bleeding in the absolute _least_ helpful way possible.

Was he shot? Had he got shot in the chase? Was he bleeding out right now? His clothes had to be covered in the stuff, not that McCree would be able to tell. Damn that man for wearing all black. Damn him for looking so good in it.

McCree was near diving into the back of the car now, fishing around for his satchel. He had medical supplies in there. If Okami was bleeding badly enough to leave a puddle in his seat, then McCree wanted to be ready to patch him up lickity-split.

Half the contents of his bag dumped out onto his lap, McCree began assessing his medical supplies. Bandages, antiseptic, tweezers if any shrapnel needed to be dealt with, a small vial of medication to stimulate blood cell production in case he’d lost too much blood. Mercy had always insisted he take one of those with him, ‘cause he was always getting into fights; he’d never regretted it yet.

The treatment he’d have to give Okami would depend on how much blood was out of his body where it wasn’t supposed to be. Just a bit and some bandaging and liquids would be enough to get him back on his feet. Too much and McCree was going to have to start brainstorming how to get Okami into a hospital without them having to give up their identities.

When a plan involving breaking in through the roof vents, pretending to be a janitor, and using a cleaning cart to smuggle in Okami had half-formed in his mind, he saw Okami heading back to the car. The man casually opened the driver’s’ door and climbed back inside.

“We’re in the other building, on the third floor. High enough for difficult access for intruders, but low enough to jump should we need to. My personal preference.” Okami started the car and glanced McCree’s way, apparently curious about the silence he was receiving in reply. A brow cocked high on his brow, he surveyed the mess in McCree’s lap. “...What are you doing?”

“Sugar, you’re bleeding,” McCree said slowly, looking Okami over. His face was pale, a bit sweaty too, his breathing shaky. How had he not seen how bad it was before now before there was a crime scene in his chair?

“I know,” Okami replied, his eyes shifting as he pondered McCree’s statement. “I just told you that, before I exited the vehicle… Did I not?”

Now he was second-guessing himself? Oh, Lord, Jesse felt guilty. A man was basically going into shock right next to him and he hadn’t even noticed until now, all ‘cause he had been concerned about his stupid confession and shit? God, that’s terrible. He was a terrible, terrible person and he’d better get to straightening himself out right now.

“How badly are you bleeding, O? Where are you bleeding? How long have you known you were flowing like a faucet?” McCree asked quickly, trying to gauge their situation.

Okami silently started up the car, staring at McCree until he began pulling around to the other building. “The wound on my hand opened back during the chase. I realized it after things had calmed down, but I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to give any others that could be around a chance at pursuit. I must have been gripping the wheel too tightly-” The drive to the other building was short and he was already pulling into a parking space, and then began peeling the soaked glove off of his hand to prove his point. “And it’s not bleeding that badly-Ah.”

He paused as he held up his hand, looking at how his skin was stained red and how blood continued to ooze from the deep cut. The bandage had long since wilted from the geyser, leaving his palm free to gush.

Oh, it was bad.

“Oh, it’s not that bad. Some rubbing alcohol, some bandages, some Gatorade and you’ll be back in business.” McCree said casually, his voice cheerful. He didn’t need Okami to panic. That would just make things worse. “What room did you say we were in again?”

“Ahm…” he paused to read the symbols on the keycard in his good hand, clearly having forgotten the room he had been told. “...307.”

“Then let’s go find room 307, yeah?” McCree said brightly, throwing everything off his lap and back into his satchel. He then pulled his bags, and Okami’s guitar case, onto his shoulders after he got out of the car. It was a bit heavy being the pack mule, but McCree would rather bear the burden on their way up to their room. It was a short walk and he was a big boy; he could take it.

“I can carry my own bag, McCree,” Okami said, reaching a bloody hand out, silently asking for his bag as he leaned on his other elbow, holding himself up against the car.

McCree didn’t want to hand over the bag. He didn’t want Okami to have to struggle with the bag when it was clear he would be struggling with just himself, but he knew that if he said that was the reason he didn’t want to hand the bag over, then Okami would snap back at him. The man was prideful and there was no doubt in McCree’s mind that that pride would come before the fall if he handed over this bag.

He racked his brain for a reason that he should carry the bag. He found one that he was sure would speak to the core being of the man in front of him: pride.

“Listen, O, you remember back in Arizona when you insisted on carting my bags down the shelf for me?” McCree said. “Well, I really do hate owing a man a favor; lemme even out the score here ‘tween us.

“But you don’t owe me for that,” he argued, hand still outstretched.

“O, please, lemme just even things out. For my sake.” McCree argued with an easy shrug despite the weight on his shoulders. “It’d mean a lot to me. You took a bag down, I take one up. We’re even.”

Okami looked him over, brows furrowed as he rolled McCree’s argument around in his head. Finally, he relented.

“If it would please you to carry the bag, then I will not waste time arguing.” Okami said. “The sooner we get to the room, the sooner I can lay down.”

Not once had McCree ever heard Okami mention needing rest. Either he was wiped from the chase or the blood loss was getting to him.

“Feelin’ woozy?” McCree asked, stepping around the car and carefully ushering Okami towards the door.

“A bit,” Okami admitted, allowing McCree to herd him towards the door. “For about half an hour. Maybe longer. It’s gotten worse. Your talking was a nice distraction.”

“Ya’ don’t say,” McCree replied, opening up the door and guiding Okami inside. He looked up and down the carpeted hall, unable to find what he was looking for. “Is there an elevator here or-?”

“No. Stairs. They’re on the right, behind that door.” Okami said, vaguely gesturing in a direction. His blood dripped onto the carpet, blending into the ugly design. Silently, he stared down at the drops before slowly looking back at McCree. “I bled on the carpet.”

“That you did, just a bit,” McCree said, throwing an arm over Okami’s shoulders and guiding him towards the stairs. His tone was confused, lost, lacking the usual overconfidence that McCree found so endearing.

“I must have bled all over the lobby. And the car.” he continued, attempting to turn out of McCree’s grasp. “I should go clean that up.”

“No, no, you still had your glove on back at the lobby. You couldn’t have bled on the floor.” McCree fibbed. “And don’t worry about the car; you already said you ain’t getting the deposit back. Now let’s go get you bandaged up before you bleed on more carpet, okay?”

Okami nodded his agreement and the two of them began heading up the stairs. McCree could immediately feel that something was wrong. Okami’s steps were heavier than normal. His normally light footwork was gone for the moment, replaced by his booted steps audibly echoing up the stairwell.

Somewhere between the first floor and the second, McCree glanced over his way, his concern growing stronger with each thumped step. His eyes were met with his pale-faced partner’s unfocused stare. With the reflexes of a rattlesnake, the arm lightly resting on Okami’s shoulders dipped down and hooked itself around his upper back and under an arm, catching him and hoisting him back up as his legs gave out. Without missing a beat, McCree kept the two of them walking up the stairs, carrying the bags and basically carrying Okami, even if the man would never admit it.

Surprisingly, though, halfway up the stairs, Okami relented against his stoic nature and wrapped his arm around McCree’s shoulders. He must have realized how much easier it was to walk when McCree was helping to bear half his weight.

They made it to the third floor and McCree read the signs on the wall, easily translating the numbers. He could do numbers. Food and places were harder to translate, and don’t even get him started on how hard it was to have a conversation, but he could do numbers.

Okami flashed the card against the scanner and unlocked the door. McCree got the two of them inside, barely surveying the room before he dumped the bags and Okami on the bed. The man’s legs hung off the edge, but he made no move to adjust himself, worrying McCree further.

Hanzo hadn’t realized how drained he felt until he allowed himself to fall. His eyes shut, he was vaguely aware of Jesse rifling through his bags, the clatter of objects being unceremoniously tossed about being unnervingly close to his head. He could ignore it, though. He was tired enough to not care. He could also ignore the dip in the mattress as McCree climbed onto the bed with him.

But what he couldn’t ignore, though, was his hand being yanked to the side and his sleeve starting to be pulled up. His tattoo was under there. No one was allowed to see that tattoo. Not even McCree. As much as Hanzo wanted to trust the man, he couldn't. Not with this, not yet.

He reached over and yanked the sleeve farther down his arm before McCree could push it up. He also attempted to wrestle his arm free of McCree’s hand, but the man had too good a grip for him to break loose.

“Hey, hey, hey,” McCree said gently, trying to soothe him. His grip on Hanzo’s arm loosened when he felt the fight die down, though he still kept a hand on him. “What’s going on, O? I'm just trying to bandage you up, babydoll, why’re you fighting?”

Articulation was not a strong point for Hanzo at the moment. While he knew what he wanted, his brain was feeling too sluggish to find the words to politely clarify his desire. “Don’t touch the sleeve.” It was gruffer than he would have liked, but it would have to do.

“The sleeve?” McCree repeated back, looking back down at Hanzo’s arm. “So as long as I don't touch the sleeve you'll let me bandage the cut?”

“Yes,” Hanzo replied slowly, it finally sinking in that McCree meant to take care of everything himself. Hanzo could take care of himself, he didn't need McCree to coddle him. He wasn't that useless.

He made an attempt to sit up, despite the wooze still addling his head, but a hand on his chest kept him from progressing towards total verticality.

“McCree, let me up.” Hanzo argued, “I can handle this myself.”

“I know that, gorgeous, believe me, I do.” McCree purred, encouraging Hanzo to lay flat once more. “But it would help put my mind at ease if you just laid back and relaxed while this gets dealt with. Just lay back down for me, sweetheart, a’ight?”

Between McCree’s honeyed words, his gentle hands, and his soft eyes, Hanzo didn't stand a chance. He let himself be guided back down to the bed and reclined fully, lazily turning his head towards McCree.

“I'll be right back,” McCree told him. “You just wait right there and get yourself comfortable.”

“I have no plans of moving, I assure you,” Hanzo replied, languidly stretching as he lay on his back.

Seemingly content that Hanzo was going to stay put, Jesse carefully got off the bed, doing his best to not jostle the man. He disappeared into the bathroom and Hanzo heard a gentle rush of water coming from the faucet. A minute later, Jesse was back, a small plastic rinsing cup full of water in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other.

“Got some soapy water here. Gonna wash that cut out before we seal it up.” McCree explained. “Your sleeve might end up getting a little wet because you don't want it pulled up, but I'll do my best to limit the splash damage.”

An amused smile, though also an unseen one, ticked on to Hanzo’s lips. “I would get up to wash the cut if you would allow it.”

“But do you want to have to get up?” McCree asked.

“Not particularly, no,” Hanzo admitted, prematurely preparing for the teasing he was sure he was about to receive for his inadequacies.

“Then don't,” McCree replied, carefully tilting Hanzo’s arm so that his hand lay flat. “I can take care of you, baby. I'm pretty damn good at pampering if you give me a chance.”

“Are you?” Hanzo teased, idly watching McCree swipe the cloth along his hand, the warm soapy water pleasant, especially with the hand touching his.

“I can't think of anything else that I like more than making sure that someone feels good.” McCree crooned, gently handling Hanzo’s wound.

“Really?” Hanzo asked, taking in Jesse’s form while the man towered over him, despite only sitting on his knees. “You can't think of anything else you'd rather do? Am I really so disappointing?”

Jesse flushed slightly at the question, a cheeky grin on his face. “You never disappoint me, O. Let's just say anything else I can think of ain't exactly appropriate for the situation and leave it at that.”

“Leave it at that? How dull.” Hanzo teased. “But as you wish. I know better than to nip at the hand that treats me.”

“Hey, I don't mind a lil’ tooth action every now and then.” McCree jokingly assured him. “A lil’ nippin’ never killed nobody.”

Was that an invitation, Hanzo wondered. It was a moment after when he finally realized what he thinking. Even he was surprised how low his inhibitions dipped when he was too woozy to care.

And why should he care? There was no harm in fantasizing.

“How’d you get cut like this anyway? You said it was during the fight, yeah?” McCree asked, trailing a finger along the gouges on the inside of Hanzo’s fingers. He carefully curled Hanzo’s fingers inwards, loosely positioning his hand in a mock fist as he lined up the cuts. “Looks like you wrapped your hand around something sharp. What’d you grab at, sweetheart?”

“A sword. Hachidori’s sword.” Hanzo clarified. “I had to grab it so she didn’t slice my throat open. Instead, I was cut in the most inconvenient place possible.”

McCree paused mid-bandaging and cocked a brow at Hanzo. “You sure the throat ain’t a more inconvenient spot?”

“The second most inconvenient.” Hanzo corrected himself with a weak nod. “McCree? Would you tell me more about your family? The one you were telling me about in the car? I enjoyed the stories you shared; do you have any others?”

“Boy, do I?” McCree asked excitedly, picking the antiseptic back up and continuing to bandage up Hanzo’s hand. “Good gosh where do I start? Lemme tell you ‘bout the time Fare an’ I pranked m’boss into thinkin’ the base was haunted with a vacuum cleaner, a walkie-talkie, and a rubber chicken…”

Hanzo loved watching Jesse’s face while he prattled on about his family. His eyes would light up and a smile would bloom on his lips. Even if Hanzo didn’t know any faces, and did his best to follow on the who was who in these stories, he adored hearing them. These people sounded like a real family, a good one, the kind that Hanzo had never really known.

It shamed him to admit it, but at some point, somewhere between the tale of Ana lifting the front end of a car because Jesse was trapped underneath and the one with Reinhardt saving a Torbjorn, Hanzo drifted off.

It was an accident really. He didn't usually fall asleep so easily. But Jesse’s voice was a liquid lullaby to his tired self. With it being just the two of them in a secure closed quarters, he felt safe enough to allow himself some rest. Just a bit, just enough for him to be of some use later. Just a few minutes sleep, that was all he would need, he was sure.

McCree was finishing up the story of Reinhardt the Crusader blazing a path of glory to rescue his friend Torbjorn and just starting on the tale of the first time he saw Gabriel pull of what he called a Death Blossom when he felt Okami twitch beneath him. Concerned that he had pulled the bandage too tight amid all his prattle, McCree glanced down to see what the matter was.

As his eyes perused the sight before him, his teeth clamped down on his lip as he tried to stifle his smile. Okami’s eyes were closed, his face the most relaxed that McCree had ever seen, at least of as much as McCree could see of it. His chest gently rose and fell as he breathed softly in his sleep.

His arm was limp in McCree’s hand, letting the man rotate his hand around as needed. Jesse quieted down his gibbering, instead quietly talking himself through the rest of the patch job. He secured the butterfly closure with some medical tape, using the fancy bandage and a cheap healing salve from his bag in an attempt to get the oddly-placed wound to heal itself shut.

Once his job was done McCree began packing up his supplies, casting the occasional glance towards his sleeping partner. He hadn’t moved at all since McCree laid him down, his head lolled to the side and his legs still hanging awkwardly off the end of the bed; Okami was dead to the world. He must have been exhausted.

As McCree fastened his satchel shut, he cast another glance Okami’s way, unable to stop his mouth from twisting into a tight pucker of dissatisfaction. There was a chill in the room, the heating hadn’t kicked in yet, not enough to combat the miserable, wet winds outside. Okami’s body temperature had to have dropped amid the blood loss. Best way to warm him up right now would be to get him under a blanket, but he was passed out on top of the comforter and all the other blankets underneath that.

Keeping his steps quiet McCree checked for a closet, one that might be holding an extra blanket, but it only held a laundry basket and a coat rack with three hangers. Nothing was stored in the tv stand of a dresser at the foot of the bed either. Only blankets in the room were on the bed, unfortunately. Either he was going to have to pull Okami up further on to the bed, and risk his neck if he scared the man awake, or leave him sleeping in the cold.

Well, there was one other option…

After only a second of debating, McCree unwrapped his serape from around his shoulders, shaking it to fan it out. Carefully, McCree stepped over towards Okami and lay the blanket on top of him, fearing for his life the whole time. Okami didn’t even twitch as the serape was placed on top of him, not reacting a whit until he curled onto his side under the blanket, still dozing away. McCree had to step back and admire the scene, fighting the grin on his face all the while.

The sight of Okami napping like a babe was entertaining, but McCree felt it best he not be caught staring whenever the man woke up. Instead, McCree felt it best he busy himself with another task; the car. There was blood to clean and Okami’s cake to put in the small fridge in the corner. Once he was done cleaning up the mess then he would come back and admire the small room Okami had booked for them, complete with a bathroom, a small fridge, a microwave, and a nice big bed, and then maybe ask if Okami knew where McCree could wash his clothes or get a bite to eat for dinner.

It was a quaint little paradise compared to the dumps McCree had been staying in, and he would be more than happy to set up camp once he had the chance, but for now, he would help tidy up the mess left in the car, and then come back to keep watch, if only so that Okami could rest a lil’ while longer. Lord knows that he had earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, and general feedback are super appreciated! Don't be shy!<3  
> (Comments give me huge motivational boosts, not gonna lie).
> 
> Please be sure to share this fic if you like it. That would mean the world to me.
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	9. One Step Forward -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i started this chapter back in march. it beat me up in a back alley and stole my money and made me rewrite/rearrange it three times and i still kicked its ass.
> 
> yippee-kay-ayyyyy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:
> 
> Implications of disassociation/panic attack.  
> Implications of physical and emotional abuse.  
> Some sexual content.  
> It's like 32.5k+ long.  
> (I feel like that should be included as a warning too, so y'all can plan accordingly.)
> 
> While some mentions/implications of sexual content are mild, there is one scene that, I feel, has finally earned me my "M" rating. 
> 
> It will be marked with a *** at the beginning and end, so that it will be easy to skip if you are not comfortable with that sort of content.
> 
> Happy reading!

The sound of a gently closed door and soft footsteps on carpet had a tired Hanzo cracking open his bleary eyes.  He blinked as he turned towards the sound, trying to wake up properly to see where he was and who was near him. Groaning as his head throbbed, he made himself focus.  He needed to figure out whether or not he was going to have to fight his way out of here. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his drunken escapades had thrown him into a pit of trouble he had to climb out of

Opening his eyes to the sight of McCree carrying a set of bloody towels in one hand and a carefully balanced box in his other had Hanzo rather confused about what was going on.  Befuddled, he looked around the room, straining his brain, trying to remind himself where they were and what was going on. He wasn't awake enough yet to try to be figuring things out and thinking.

“Morning, sunshine,” McCree called over, dumping the bloody towels somewhere in the bathroom.  The sink began running a moment later as the man began washing his hands. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

“No.  No, you didn’t.” Hanzo replied, finally sitting up.  “I was already awakening-” He stopped talking when he became dimly aware of a blanket slipping off his chest and down onto his lap. He gently picked up the hem, taking a moment to ponder why Jesse's shoulder blanket would be on him and not Jesse.  Thinking was still not his strong suit at the moment, though it was becoming easier as the fog cleared.

Had McCree laid this on top of him while he slept?  What a dangerous venture to even approach Hanzo while he slept, though the kindness behind the gesture was appreciated.

“I believe this is yours.” Hanzo finished as Jesse stepped out of the bathroom, holding out the cloth wrap for Jesse to take back.  While he appreciated the gesture, he assumed that, with how often it was donned, Jesse would want it back sooner rather than later.

“It is if you're done with it,” McCree replied, waiting to be sure.  The blanket continued to be held out to him, shaken a bit to get his attention, so he took it back, wrapping back around his shoulders.

“How are you feeling?” McCree asked, crouching down to dig through his bag.  “Better?”

“Better than I was,” Hanzo replied.  “How long was I asleep?”

“Oh, you conked out for about an hour or so.” McCree shrugged, pulling a bottle out of his bag. “Not long at all really.  Drink this. Get some sugars back in my sugar.” He held out the sports drink for Hanzo to take, teasingly wiggling it in reply to Hanzo’s handing over his shoulder cape.

Hanzo took the bottle and surveyed the purple liquid it contained.  “Thank you.” he finally said, eyes locked onto the drink. “I wanted to get this sleep taste out of my mouth anyway."

“You actually have a mouth?” McCree asked excitedly, his teasing evidently realized when Hanzo cast him a baleful look.  “Right, right, I'm gonna pop into the bathroom and rinse out these towels real quick. You drink up, a’ight? Don’t mind me none."

McCree disappeared into the bathroom once more, leaving the door open so that the two of them could still talk to each other, but having his back turned to the rest of the room as he faced the tub.  Hanzo waited a minute before he pulled the mask down and cracked the bottle open. He took a long pull of the sickly sweet, fake grape drink, downing close to half the bottle on his first drink.

As he wiped the back of his hand against his mouth he took a minute to survey the room.  Two bedside stands, complete with lamps atop each, flanked the mattress, and a small tv sat on the dresser at the foot of the bed.  A microwave on a small table and a minifridge were positioned towards the right wall. To the left was the bathroom, walled in and taking up the left front corner of the rectangular room.  Without even looking inside he knew there was a shower of some kind, either in a tub or stall, a toilet, and a countertop sink all tightly fit together with just enough room for a person to comfortably pass through.  It was a standard room in the hotel; nothing unusual stood out until he took a second look over.

“There’s only one bed.” Hanzo realized, to his horror.  One bed. There was only one bed. For the two of them. It was a comfortable size, with more than enough room for two, but still, this was awkward.  “I asked for a room for two, why would they only give us one bed?”

“I did notice that too.  Just thought that it was you tryin’ to set us up for a good time.  You know, like they do in those romance stories of ours.” McCree called from the bathroom, clearly teasing him. “I have a theory as to why they only gave us only one if you don’t mind my presumin’.”

“Presume away, please,” Hanzo told him, hand on his mask.  If McCree was forgetful enough to poke his head back out around the corner, Hanzo wanted to be prepared to cover himself back up.

“Well, they left a set of his an’ her face wash and lotions on the counter, and the shower’s got a shampoo, conditioner, and body wash set that says it smells like… Sexy Tree, if I’m readin’ it right?” McCree replied.  He probably wasn’t. “Whatever the hell that is, and a peachy set. I’m guessin’ that when you asked for a room for two, they assumed it was for a fling of some kind.”

Oh dear.  Hanzo shook his head in annoyance.  “That’s what I get for rushing the reservation.” he sighed, hand falling back to his lap.  He had been in a hurry and only said it was for two; he hadn’t assumed he’d have to explain that two people meant he wanted two beds.  “I apologize for this. I can call and see if they have another room, and, if they don’t, do what I can to accommodate the situation.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Ain’t no need to do that.  This room’s plenty nice, I like it, an’ I’ll pay my part of it.” McCree replied.  “There’s only one thing I want out of this.”

“Which is?” Hanzo asked, already bringing the bottle back up for another drink.

“You use the Flirty Fir, or whatever the hell it is, set,” McCree told him.  “When I leave this place, I’m gonna be smellin’ like motherfuckin’ peaches an’ cream, a’ight?”

Hanzo paused mid-sip and couldn’t help the smile that ticked onto his lips.  “I believe that can be arranged,” he replied. “And do not worry about paying anything for the room.  It’s taken care of.”

“Hey now, I want to split the cost, O,” McCree called from the bathroom, his voice echoing on the tiles.

“Don't worry about it,” Hanzo called back. “You owe me nothing.”

“Now don't give me that, I want to pay my half-”

“The room was free.  The owners of the hotel owe me, so you don't.” Hanzo responded.  “I have an outstanding deal to have a room available at any of their locations, free of charge.”

“Really?  That's the truth?  Well, then.” McCree whistled low in appreciation. “What's it take a fella to get a deal like that?”

“I lent the family that owns the chain a good amount to help them pay off a loan shark before they… got _serious_  with collecting.” Hanzo replied.  “They offered to pay me back when they could, but instead all I asked for was that they let me stay at their establishments for free. One phone call and I have a room.  That's why you don't owe me.”

“Well, ain't you a real peach?”  McCree crooned.

Hanzo paused, finding himself unable to counter McCree’s namecalling. “Is there anything you were hoping to do today?” he asked, preferring to change the subject. “It’s getting late. I slept for too long. We best be efficient with our time."

“Yeah, I do have a-, um…” McCree said. “They got any places around here to do laundry? I'm running low on clean clothes ‘cause of being on the run and all and I would just about kill for a washing machine so I don't gotta wash up in the tub.”

“This building has a laundry room, yes, as well as a gym.  They’re available all day and night. The only issue we’d have to contest are the other guests, but this is neither a bustling location nor a prime vacation time, so we should have no problem with that.” Hanzo replied.  “I'd also like to take advantage a washing machine since we have time.”

“Yeah, we shouldn't have a problem with people at all.  I ain't seen a soul. One more question.” McCree said, his voice hollow as it bounced on the tile.  “There any lil’ markets ‘round here where we can pick up some food? That microwave over there means I don’t have to eat from my pack tonight, which is good ‘cause it was running low.  Anywhere convenient to restock while we got the chance?”

“There is a large grocery store nearby,” Hanzo answered, taking another sip. “It’s not a twenty-four establishment, so that should be our first priority.”  

The faucet finally shut off, and then there was the rush of water being wrung out from sopping wet towels and Hanzo’s curiosity got the best of him.  “McCree, why are those towels bloody? Did you kill someone outside?”

“What?  Did I what-?!” McCree seemed to be sputtering. “No!  No, sir, I didn’t kill nobody.”

If he didn’t kill nobody, then…   “So you did kill somebody?” Hanzo asked to clarify.

McCree sighed loudly. “O, I ain’t killed no one, you know that.”

If he “ain't” killed no one, then that means that… no one was not killed, so… “So you did kill someone?” Hanzo asked.  This was getting confusing.

“O.  No one died.  The towels are bloody because I went to go clean out the car that you bled all over.” McCree explained.  “The mess seemed to be bothering you, it was all you were talking about the entire time we were walking up here.  Thought I’d do you a favor and clean it up. That’s all.”

Hanzo didn’t remember the conversation at all, unsurprisingly, but was touched by McCree’s catering to his whims, no matter how delusional he had been while voicing them.  “Well, thank you. I would hope that if you ever did kill someone, you’d at least ask me to help to clean up afterward.” Hanzo replied, capping the empty bottle and replacing his mask.  “We’re close enough for that, aren’t we?”

“Aw, sweetpea, of course,” McCree replied.  Even without seeing his face, Hanzo could use his tone to judge his utter sincerity. “We’re thick as thieves, O.  You and me.”

While Hanzo had no idea what the phrase thick as thieves meant, he was sure it was good.  It had to be. McCree had said it about them. There was no reason it would be a bad thing.

“Oh, ah, I brought your cake up while I was down there.  It’s in the fridge now.” McCree continued. “Had to clean some glass off the cover but it was sealed tight.  Still good for consumption, I would figure.”

Hanzo perked up at his words.  “The cake was still intact?” He had thought it was nothing but a messed up mash after that chase and had already written it off as an unfortunate casualty.  But to hear that it might still be intact and consumable? That was positively grand.

“Yeah, I made sure not to tread on it at all through all my fidgeting during the chase,” McCree replied.  “Be a waste of a good cake, you know? Sides, I could tell how excited you were to dig in later.”

“I wasn't _excited_ ,” Hanzo argued, a slight flush in his face as he was standing and heading over towards his bag.  If they were going to head out, then Hanzo wanted to freshen up first.

“You weren't?” McCree asked, “So then if you don't mind my asking, what does get you excited?  I'd like to know for future reference’s sake.” Hanzo’s brows jumped at the bold words. McCree had meant it when he said he was interested in him, clearly.

After a quick digging through his bag and retrieving what he needed, Hanzo walked towards the bathroom. He entered the doorway, posing with his arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, eyebrow cocked high as he surveyed the man below.

“What gets me excited?” Hanzo replied, gazing down at Jesse.  “Good posture, for starters.”

McCree was slouched against the tub, elbows resting on the edge, long legs crossed as they splayed their length out, taking over most of the small room.  There was a cocksure grin on his face as he gazed up at Hanzo, clearly having set up camp in the bathroom as he waited for permission to leave.

“Hey there, sugarsnap, it's good to see you up.” McCree grinned, pushing himself up into a more civilized position. “You gonna be ready to head out soon or you wanna relax for a lil’ while longer?”

“It's getting late.  We should head out soon if we want time to actually walk around the store.” Hanzo replied, eyes skimming over the small room.  “Are you done in here?”

“Well, now I am,” McCree replied, slowly pushing himself up to his feet with a quiet grunt.  “While you’re in here, I’m gonna go change into something more, ah… inconspicuous so we can hopefully have a nice quiet grocery trip without any more assassins on our tail.  I don’t think my heart could take another chase today.”

“Mine either.” Hanzo stepped aside to let McCree pass by and then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.  He wasn’t planning on being long, he just wanted to clean up a bit before they headed out.

He mopped at his face with a damp washcloth, to wake himself and freshen up, cleaning up the smudged eyeliner with a tip of his finger.  He reapplied the liner, opting for a thicker line rather than trying to straighten up what he had, layering a red layer above the black line.  Letting his sleep-mussed hair down, he ran his fingers through the water and then slicked all of it back, carefully retying it as best he could without pulling at his injury.

One last check in the mirror, and a quick adjusting tug of his jacket, and Hanzo felt better.  He didn’t look like he had just passed out for an hour, which was nice. He now looked more like a properly functioning member of society. Or at least it would be hard to tell that he actually wasn’t.

Once he was done in the bathroom, he stepped back out into the room, not bothering to announce himself.  Jesse had nothing to hide, he had said it himself. Hanzo was the only one ridiculous enough to demand an ungodly amount of privacy.  

He walked out in time to see McCree holding the hem of his shirt in his teeth, busy with strapping a gun holster around his middle.“Do you need some help with that?” Hanzo asked, eyes glued to McCree’s tight abdomen.  

Jesse’s middle was slightly covered by the strap of elastic he was adjusting, but Hanzo could still make out how sturdy his core seemed to be, with the sign of a robust six pack since faded evident on his sturdy body.  The dip of hips just showed over the top of his jeans. His body was hardened by practice, built for strength, and, though slightly softened by time and a less routine regimen, designed for use.

Dark, coarse hair lined his torso up to his chest. Hanzo was sure that it would trail down lower as well, just as thick, though there was only one way to be certain; that reason would require a lack of pants, and Hanzo couldn’t come up with a subtle way to tell Jesse with drop his trousers so he could know.  With as smitten as Jesse seemed, though, perhaps subtle wouldn’t be necessary.

“Nnrn.  Ah gut it.” McCree replied, teeth still clamped down on the hem as he made some adjustments to the belt.    He paused, glancing up Hanzo’s way, and staring at him, or rather, more specifically, his hair, before he focused back on his task.  Did his hair look bad? Was it coming loose? What?

Hanzo’s pondering was interrupted as he continued to watch McCree suit himself up.  The man’s stomach muscles fluttered as his hands ghosted along his torso, tweaking the body holster.  He was sensitive to touch in the area, receptive too. That was good to note, for future reference.

Content with how the elastic sat, McCree finally tucked his gun into the concealed holster and then spat his shirt out of his mouth, pulling it down properly over himself.  “What do you think? Is it obvious I’m packing?”

Confused at the question, Hanzo took a moment to look McCree over.  “No, no I think it’s very hidden,” Hanzo responded slowly, eyes trailing north when he realized that McCree was talking about the gun and not his tight pants.  “Though, I will admit the rest of the disguise is a… new look for you and it might be throwing me off.”

McCree twisted his lips in curiosity as he gazed down at himself and then back up at Hanzo.  He wore a bright yellow long sleeve crew neck with the sleeves down to wrists, with the shirt baggy enough in the waist to hide the equipped weapon.  His head was bare of his usual hat, his shaggy hair hanging loose, and his jeans were the same pair that Hanzo had grown accustomed to, but instead of the familiar pair of cowboy boots on his feet, he instead wore a cheap pair of white sneakers.

Hanzo wasn’t exactly a fan of the look.  McCree wore his disguise well, and he was reluctant to acknowledge that it did look good on him, but this wasn’t his cowboy.  This wasn’t a change he liked, but he knew it was necessary for the time being.

“You sayin’ yellow ain’t my color?” McCree asked, that joking smirk that Hanzo knew well once more lighting his face.  He continued before Hanzo could respond. “I’d rather be wearing my normal duds, O, but this is my last clean shirt. There’s a reason this is the only one I have left; it’s ‘cause I bought it on an impulse as a disguise but I didn’t want to wear it.  Ain’t my style, ain’t a fan, but it’s all I got.” McCree paused, cocky grin growing on his face. “I didn’t realize you would be so disappointed ‘bout me switching up my look.”

“I’m not disappointed,” Hanzo replied, slowly, carefully.  “Just surprised, I suppose. I didn’t realize you would even carry around any clothes that didn’t make you look like an extra from a cowboy film.”

Jesse gave a snort.  “I beg your pardon, that’s downright rude.” McCree retorted, throwing his satchel on over his shoulder as he took a sudden, long step closer to Hanzo. “I don’t look like an _extra_  from a western; I look like the _goddamn_   ** _star_** , thank you very much.” He punctuated his words by looping a finger into Hanzo’s hair and freeing the never-cooperative lock of a bang from its slicked back prison.

“Of course, my apologies, the _star_  of a cowboy film,” Hanzo said, reaching up and brushing the now loose-hair out of his eyes, situating it out of his way, on the right side of his face.  “Are you comfortably armed?”

“It’s as good as it’s gonna get considerin’ I’m wearing a gun girdle,” McCree replied honestly. “Got your wallet?  Need a drink for the road? Anything?”

“No, I'm fine.  I’m ready if you are.” Hanzo told him, room key in hand.  “Let’s go.”

The two of them headed out of the room, making their way down the stairs and out of the building.  McCree let Hanzo take the lead once they were outside, keeping his pace in line with his. Hands in his pockets, he hummed as the two of them walked.

Thankfully, the store wasn’t too far from the hotel room, so they opted to walk.  It would attract far less attention than driving around in a car with shot-out windows would and they wouldn’t have to worry about parking.

Hanzo chanced a glance over at the man a ways on their walk, nearly tipping over into the abyss of enthrallment as the wind brushed Jesse’s bangs, mussing up the messy mop just so.  His long bangs skirted down towards his eyes, so Jesse reached a hand up to try to tame them, uselessly brushing them to the side as the wind blew them back over his face. It was a charming sight.

Jesse’s hand hung low by his side now, not yet slipped back into the pocket, and Hanzo entertained the idea of claiming it as his own.  Hanzo had gloves on, though fingerless, and he was still feeling the chill. Jesse had no gloves, though his hands were always warm. Surely one of them would benefit would some handholding-?

_Clan leaders do not need a handholding.  Not competent ones, you utter disgrace._

No, the idea was childish.  What was he thinking? He didn’t need his hand held.  Despite how warm and comforting he knew Jesse’s touch was, he opted to not even try.  He wasn’t a child. It was a stupid thought to even momentarily entertain and the regret he felt as the hand was resituated in the pocket was a foolish one.

Noticing Jesse flicking his head over Hanzo’s way once more, probably in another futile attempt to fling the mane off his face,  Hanzo managed to jerk his eyes back to the path in front of them before he was caught staring. Before he had a chance to sneak another glance and entertain any more idiotic whims, the bright storefront came into view.

Kōnyū Jankumart was a huge store that had a little bit of everything that they could need.  Aisle upon aisle of merchandise, both food as well as other necessities if they wandered over to that side of the store.  The freezers were stocked, the deli cases were full, and the bakery cases were being replenished at the moment judging by the sweet smell wafting from that side of the store.  The two of them had stepped inside and McCree stopped inside the sliding doors, pausing to marvel at the store.

The harsh fluorescent lighting did the interior no favors, but it was near impossible to argue that the store wasn’t good looking on the inside.  They had renovated recently, some time in the past two years if Hanzo’s memory served, and it showed. Clean tile floors that were intertwined seamlessly with wood, the store was bright, near obnoxiously so, and the layout simple to understand at a glance.

“Well, ain’t this a nice place.  Should have everything we need.” McCree murmured, turning towards Hanzo. “O, are you good to walk around on your own?  I know you conked out for a while back there and-”

“I'll be fine,” Hanzo answered easily, guiding McCree farther into the store so they weren't just standing in and blocking the entrance. “I just hadn't slept well the days prior and then I let myself fall asleep around you.  That’s all it was. I’m fine now.”

“You sure?” McCree asked.  “I can stand by if you needed me, I don’t mind.”

“I'd rather we divide and conquer and get out of here faster.  I see no point in us holding hands and skipping around the store together, wasting time.” Hanzo paused as he watched McCree's lips pucker into a hardly concealed grin. “You're picturing it, aren't you?  The skipping and hand holding.”

“Can’t help it.  In fact, I'm sure we could pull it off right here right now.” McCree grinned. “Though, do I have to skip?  I never learned how. But I am pretty good at holding hands. That more than makes up for it, right?”

“No, I'm terribly sorry, but you'd have to, so we can't.” Hanzo coolly replied, picking up two hand baskets and holding one out to McCree. “Go get your groceries.  We'll meet back up front once we're done.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “And if I need you, for any reason, I will come find you, I promise.”

McCree eyed the basket a moment before grabbing it.  “Please do, O. Any reason at all. No questions asked.” he said, letting the basket hang by his side. “An’, don't get me wrong, I know you know how to take care of yourself; I just don’t like seein’ my friends hurting, you know?”

Friends.  They were friends?  The word filled his chest with a delicious heat, one he hadn’t felt in a long time.  Did Jesse think them that close? Romantic flings were one thing, short, brief, rushed, but friends, longterm, close, caring, entirely another.

McCree was a kind man, far too kind for the likes of Hanzo, but Hanzo decided that he would accept the compliment, no matter how selfish it was of him to do so.  He wanted it and so it was his.

McCree appeared satisfied by Hanzo’s promise.  He began walking off, basket in hand, leaving Hanzo to his own devices.  That was a nice thing about McCree, he was always eager to help but never tipped too far into the realm of overbearing.  He seemed to have an innate ability to know when to press a matter further and when to pull back. He respected boundaries once they had been established.  There weren't many men that Hanzo could say the same about.

After wandering through the rows, occasionally plucking an item or two off the shelf, a buzz of dizziness and underlying feeling of queasiness started to hit Hanzo.  Was he still dehydrated? Or was the blood loss still hitting him? How unfair, he hadn’t even lost that much. Maybe a bit much for him, but it still hadn’t been terrible.  

No, no.  No. He was fine.  He’d just get a drink and then he’d be fine.

He headed for the door, pausing to leave his basket on an empty register.  There were vending machines outside. He’d buy a drink from one of those and then get back to shopping and then get out of here and go back to the room and rest.  Simple as that.

He would have bought one inside, but he wasn't ready to deal with a cashier or the looks he would get if he sipped on unpaid merchandise.  The vending machine options would have to do.

The lack of options at the machine made his decision for him.  He didn’t want a sugar-filled soda because he didn’t want to crash again later, and he needed more than water.  The only other option left was the Pokaro Sweet, a sports drink he was more than familiar with. He knew it was what would help him most right now out of all the options available.  It was made for these types of problems.

 

  
He slipped his coins in the slot, punched in the number of his drink, and waited as it was retrieved. Fishing it out of the machine, he uncapped the fizzy drink carefully and then turned towards the wall. He slid his mask up just enough to free his mouth as he ducked his head, blocking the view from the cameras above and for anyone that might be around as he took a much-needed swig, downing most of the small bottle in one go.

The drink was fizzy, with a hint of sweet citrus helping limit the stinging brunt of bitterness. It was tart compared to Gatorade, with much less sugar present to sweeten with the taste, despite the name, and rather bittersweet, but that was more by association than by flavor profile.

The taste of the drink on his tongue came with a feeling of haunted reminiscing. He capped it and replaced his mask, unable to shake the unfortunate past relationship he had with this particular type of drink.

This was one of the main liquids he had consumed back with the clan. This and water, with a cup of sake shoved into his young self’s hands whenever there was an occasion to excuse it. It was forced upon him, for he was either emotionally guilted or physically manhandled into accepting it. He had an illusion of choice presented to him on a platter, and, if he refused to swallow the main course of lies, then he was punished.

_Inadequate. Do it again._

He had been pushed to keep improving, the treatment worsening as he grew older, as soon as his father could no longer protect him, and pushed to keep wasting away from sprinting on a treadmill of inevitable failure. He had to stay hydrated so that they could keep him running along the never-ending path. He knew what this drink tasted like going down and coming back up. It had been vomited up from side-stitches twisted into monstrous cramps when his guts tied themselves together before he had to cough them up.

_Again._

They’d stroke his head and pull his hair back while he was on his knees, while the bile was on his tongue, and coo words of affection. Once his stomach was emptied they’d yank his hair back and clutch at his mouth, forcing him to drink and replace what he had wasted, cursing his incompetence. Their manhandling had grown far worse as he aged, after father had passed, their stares colder, their hands rougher, and their words sharper to make sure they stung despite how numb he had grown. It was easier to accept the drink without a fight, to just do what he was told, without thinking. No matter how much he struggled, it was always easier to just give up.

_Again._

He didn’t want to. He never wanted to. They didn’t care. He hadn’t performed well enough. They wouldn’t let him be until he did.

Nothing was ever good enough. They’d never let him be. He had to be better. He couldn’t. This was his best. And it never good enough. Not even close. It never was.

_**Again.** _

He was supposed to have been the heir. He was supposed to have been perfect. They had wanted him perfect and that had been their biggest mistake.

**_Again._ **

_**Again.** _

_**Again.** _

They had shaped and reshaped him, too many hands trying to form the clay into something acceptable, crushing it down and starting over and over and over time and time again, trying to sculpt him into the perfect puppet of a leader. They had reworked the clay too many times, overworking it and made it fragile, eroding it until the strength was compromised and it was but a useless lump.

Instead of a presentable final product, they had a shell of the man they had wanted to design, unwilling to be manipulated any longer, one who had long since cracked, shattered into unusable pieces, his life and potential completely wasted.

They had wanted perfection. All they had created was a mess.

_Unfortunately mediocre._

They had wanted the perfect man. All they had created was a monster.

_Completely unacceptable._

They had wanted him to be their everything. He was nothing.

_Utter disappointment._

He had crumbled until only fragments of psyche were left and it was only recently that he even dared to recobble himself into something of worth. The clan itself had fallen into utter disarray once the basket they had put all their eggs into had tipped and tumbled and shattered as they slipped down the mountain of prosperity into the pits of despair.

And the way they were trying to claw themselves back out of the pit was the reason that he had to come back to this hell once again.

_Not good enough._

He didn’t want to be back near the clan, but there was something he had to put a stop to, no matter the risk. They wouldn’t catch him, he’d make it out; any other option was too horrible to contemplate. He had already had to run away once, while the sky opened up a window of opportunity with a downpour, making it harder than it already was to stumble through the forest while-

Stop. Not this. Stop thinking about it. Stop. Not this, not there, not here, not-

_Not good enough._

_Not good enough._

**_Not good enough._ **

His stomach lurched acidic bile that, with a hint of citrus that stung with a brunt of sour bitterness, burned at his throat. He retched in his mouth, swallowing the liquid back down, a frigid sting on his fingers bring him back to his senses enough to realize that he was breathing far too fast, borderline hyperventilating.

He was in the freezer section, basket on his arm, drink tucked inside it, frozen dinner clutched in his hand. When had he even stepped inside? When had he gotten here? How long had he been here? There were more items in the basket than he recalled, ones he had been planning on buying, yes, but still. When had he started shopping again? He didn’t remember. His body had been on autopilot while his brain had been in panic mode.

The dried blood on his shirt scratched and itched at his overly-sensitive body. His tattoo felt hot, scaldingly so. Was it really? Or were the memories being dug up making him think it was? It felt like it did when his dragons returned to him, after he had summoned them to scout or fight. What could they have been doing? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to think right now.

He just needed… needed… something.

Something. Didn’t know what.

Something. He needed to do something. 

He jammed a hand in his pocket and fidgeted the keychain he always carried.  It didn't help much.  Needed something else.

Something, something, something-

Run.  He could run from here, flee, forget his task, and never look back and-

 _No_ , the dragons told him.

 _Breathe_ , was their reminder.

Right, yes, breathing. Breathing was a good thing. Breathing more evenly would be a better one.

Breathe. Center. Focus.

_Go forward._

He followed the directions, uncaring and unwilling to think of another place to go. Sure, go forward. Why not? Where else did he have to go?

Breathe. Center. Focus.

_Left._

Okay. Left it was.

Breathe. Breathe. Calm. Center. Focus.

_Seven._

What?

_Seven._

What does that-?

**_Seven._ **

He didn’t know what they meant by seven. He didn’t know what they wanted. The only thing he could do was keep walking the way they had told him to. There was a reason they wanted him going this way. He would listen and obey.

It was all he was good for, blind stupid obedience. That was the purpose he had been designed for after all. It was who he was raised to be. A stupid, useless fool. Weak. Weak, weak, weak-

His thoughts were cut short when naught but a melodic whisper managed to cut through the static ringing through his head and the blood pounding in his ears. What was that? Why was he focusing on it? He continued on towards the quiet noise, peering up each row for the source.

Once he located the source of the sound, he found Jesse, reading the back of some bags and comparing two different kinds of jerky while he casually rocked in time to the music playing over the speakers, humming softly along with the repetitive tune. How had he managed to hear the hum through all the white noise? Had it been his dragons filtering it out? A quick glance at the sign above their heads showed that this was the snack row.

Aisle seven.

Jesse cast him a glance out of the corner of his eye, but after assessing that it was only Hanzo and not a threat, he relaxed, partially returning to examining the packages in his hands. Hanzo busied himself with grabbing the other items he needed from the row, closing the gap between them. There was only so long that he could stall, though, and it was inevitable that he would have to go bother Jesse at some point. That was the reason he was here, after all. To bother him, yet again.

There was something that he needed right now, though he didn’t know what; whatever it was, he was all but certain that Jesse had it. He had said to come find him if he was needed. And just being close to the man was enough to help. There was a calming aura around him. It was nice.

Jesse, to his credit, had been trying to gauge if anything was wrong with quick subtle glances. His last look had lingered just a bit too long, a sign that he had moved beyond assessing him and into trying to read what the situation might be, eyes dipping over his form before they trailed back up to his face. Whatever he saw wasn’t enough for him to break his promise of no questions, so instead of reacting he allowed Hanzo the space to make what move he wanted.

Hanzo finally decided to close the gap between them. Standing on Jesse’s right side, just behind him, he looked at the bags lining the wall in front of them, pretending to debate what kind jerky that he himself would like to purchase. Obviously, he was here for jerky. It wasn’t as if he just wanted to be close to the man. Clearly.

 _Get a spicy one_ , his dragons demanded, _spicy good._

As a thank you gift, he would. The dragons enjoyed spicy jerky as a treat. It was more than deserved in this case. Since he was here, and probably going to buy some for himself, he’d get some for them. First he had to find one he thought they might enjoy.

The bags on the top and middle were easy to read, but Hanzo couldn’t entirely see the low hanging bags easily past Jesse. If only for efficiency's sake, or that’s what he told himself anyway, Hanzo hooked his head over Jesse’s shoulder, leaning on him as he surveyed the options; it was only so that they could leave faster, of course. Not because it felt wonderful to touch or have some support or anything. Not because he needed this contact. Not at all.

The two of them stood like this a while, too long, not speaking a word. Jesse put back one of the bags he had been holding, rereading the bag he still held in his left hand. Hanzo was busy reading the label of what turned out to be a delicious sounding lemon pepper jerky when a warm hand brushed against his head and distracting him.

Blunt nails scratched along the buzzcut, fingertips massaging against the base of his skull. Hanzo was caught off-guard by the motion, but his only reaction was to lightly butt his head against Jesse’s cheek, revealing more of his head and throat for the hand to ravish. He noticed with amusement that Jesse had shoved the right arm’s sleeve up to his elbow at some point, mirroring how he wore his usual flannels.

“I know you’re tired, O. We’ll finish up here soon and get you back to the room. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” Jesse murmured. “Just a lil’ bit longer, babydoll. Then we’ll be headin’ back. That work out alright for you?”

Hanzo hummed in reply, too busy enjoying the impromptu massage to properly respond. He was leaning harder against Jesse now, his body pressing against him. This was nice.

Too nice. More than he deserved.

He was enjoying himself and hating himself all at the same time. This was a weak display, he was weak, but somehow, when he was with Jesse, it felt like it was okay to be weak. He didn’t have to be stoically untouchable; it was actually far more rewarding to be more human than machine.

Here, it was okay to be tired, it was okay to crave some semblance of affection, even if he didn’t earn or deserve it. For once, it was okay to be weak.

His hand twitched as the thought of wrapping it around Jesse’s enticing, warm middle entered his mind. It was silenced near immediately, hand falling from its climb and grazing against Jesse’s backside, getting a twitch of surprise out of the man.

 _He’s not yours to claim_ , a voice in his head said.

Instead of wrapping an arm around him, Hanzo made himself stand up and pull away from the man, shaking his head to chase the hand away, immediately missing it once it was gone. He did his best to ignore that Jesse’s first instinct was to reach after him, to keep him close.

It was tough to block out the sight of his defeated fingers curling in, his hand shrinking in back towards his body, and the puppy dog eyes and that pout on his lips and the sudden slump of his shoulders. It was tough, but Hanzo was sure he managed to pay all of that no mind. Clearly.

“I’m fine,” he assured Jesse, eyeing what the man had picked out for himself if only to not have to submit to that pitiful look on his face. He was fine now. He was better, at least. Better than he had been. This had been enough. More than he deserved. “Oyster-flavored jerky is an odd choice. I hadn’t pegged you as an oyster lover.”

Jesse’s eyes widened as he snatched the bag out of his basket, rerereading it one more time. “I thought it was persimmon-fruity flavored. Y’know, like pineapple Hawaiian jerky stuff. It’s oyster? You’re sure? Ain’t _kaki_  a persimmon?” he asked, now rubbing his free hand against the back of his neck, keeping it from awkwardly floating in the air towards Hanzo.

“Yes. And _kaki_  is oyster.” Hanzo fought to keep a tired grin at bay, despite knowing that whatever escaped was hidden under a mask. “The difference is oyster KAki versus persimmon kaKI. What you’re holding is oyster.”

The words had barely left Hanzo’s mouth before Jesse was immediately hanging the bag back up on the rack, slamming it back into place. “Now I don’t like to knock on languages, because lord knows English is ten different languages trussed up in a badly tied trench coat but is it really so difficult to come up with another damn word for oyster?” he asked.

“English has its own homophonic horrors, Jesse,” Hanzo replied fondly. “Might I add that, in your language, ‘Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo’ is considered a proper sentence?”

“Buffalo buffalo Buffalo-?” Jesse rolled the words around in his head, clearly giving up. “Point taken. If you wouldn’t mind, could you help me pick out a _palatable_  jerky?” he pointed to a yellow and black bag. “What’s that one there?”

“Lemon pepper.” Hanzo translated. “Do you really despise oyster so much?”

“Never been big on seafood. Sometimes it’s alright, but I’m more of a turf man than a surf one.” McCree answered. “There a teriyaki? Always like a good teriyaki.”

“Yes. Spicy. Not.” Hanzo answered, leaning on Jesse once more as he pointed to the red and purple bags on the right side. Jesse picked the purple as Hanzo grabbed the red one. Spicy and teriyaki? The girls would love that.

He was putting a bag of the lemon pepper variety in his basket when Jesse pointed towards a blue bag. “What’s that one?”

“Mesquite.” Jesse grabbed a bag of that too and, seemingly content with his jerky haul, glanced over towards Hanzo. “We can stay here a while longer if you want, sugarbaby. I don't mind a whit.”

It was then that Hanzo noticed that he was leaning against Jesse again, his head resting on the man’s shoulder once more. Once he noticed what his tired self was doing, he straightened back up, adjusting his jacket in an attempt to shrug off the position he had just been caught in. He hadn’t meant to indulge again. Now he was just getting selfish.

Jesse seemed to be disappointed by his reaction, though if he was, he did a better job of hiding it this time. “You know this store pretty well, O?” he asked.

“Fairly well, yes. Why?” Hanzo asked, completely unprepared for the next question.

“You, ah, happen to know where the lube is?” Jesse asked awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m running low an’ I should get some more ‘fore I need it.”

“The lube-?” Hanzo repeated, his eyes drifting south before he caught himself.  
He had heard that Americans were fairly forward, but this was unexpected. Were they to that stage already? They had just been leaning on each other. But that was basically a precursor to sex, wasn’t it? It was to Hanzo. But he was a pathetic example of human intimacy, so did that really count?

Was he ready for this?

Jesse would look so good on his hands and knees, face flushed red, sweat dripping off him as he panted, hoarsely begging, _pleading_ , for release. His pupils blown wide, hands grasping at the sheets, his body covered in bite marks and bruises, hips grinding against the bed for friction. Sex was a look he would wear well.

It was a scene that Hanzo was picturing before he could stop himself, mentally slapping himself and scolding himself for his lack of correctly applied focus. This wasn’t how these scenes played out in the books. Their lives weren’t some kind of erotic fantasy waiting to be played out.

But if they were, then now was the time for him for him to reciprocate the offer somehow, with a suave pickup line and flirtatious body language, doing his best to appear like a good partner to have in the bedroom.

Or, at least, that’s what he wished he could have done.

“The _lube_ -?” he repeated dumbly, his mouth moving before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, would it be with the medical or the automotive?” McCree asked and Hanzo could only scrunch his brows in confusion as Jesse continued. “I know some countries require prosthetic lubricant and care to be in the medical section, but some stores jam in back in automotive ‘cause they consider them equipment. D’ya know which it is in here by any chance?”

“Oh.” Hanzo choked out the sound before he cleared his throat and gave Jesse a proper answer. “It’s by the pharmacy here. Over near the joint care.” That kind of lube. Ah.

Jesse let out a good-natured chuckle. “Joint care, huh? Lack of joint care, more like.” he glanced out the end of the row, seeing if he could spot the pharmacy from here. “You have no idea how happy I am that it ain’t back by the steerin’ wheels. It gets so dehumanizin’ to have this part of me treated like some piece of foreign equipment. It’s hard enough to deal with missin’ a limb without the world constantly remindin’ you your part machine now, y’know?”

“Yes. I understand.” Hanzo replied quietly. “Would you like me to come and translate the boxes over there?”

“Depends. You need anything over there?” His question had Hanzo quickly glancing down at this basket, checking to see what he had even acquired whilst shopping in a daze.

Hanzo licked his lips, gazing down in thought, surveying his supplies, before he responded, mind working to come up with a legitimate reason to come along. “I want to help,” Hanzo assured him. “And I can grab the laundry detergent for later while we’re over there. All I ask is that we hit the bakery before we go, for just a moment.”

“Detergent. Smart. But the bakery? I mean, sure, of course, that ain’t a problem… but don’t you already got a cake back at the room?” McCree teased.

“You shouldn’t eat cake for breakfast, Jesse,” Hanzo argued. “It’s-.”

“Well, I mean, pancakes, but anyway… Actually, I could go for a nice, warm pancake breakfast…” McCree paused, musing over one true acceptable breakfast cake before he resumed his pressing. “But shouldn’t eat? Not can’t eat? _Shouldn’t?_  That kind of talk sounds like you’ve had yourself a piece of breakfast cake _cake_ , but, knowing you, you wouldn’t have-”

An audible, guilty gulp from Hanzo had McCree pausing mid-thought. “Well there ain’t a problem with startin’ a morning with a lil’ slice of happiness, O. In fact, I plan on hittin’ the bakery m’self; I’m dying for some decent red velvet.”

Hanzo nodded his understanding and turned towards McCree and told him, “They have red velvet muffins that are divine. We should look for them once we’re done with the first aid row”

“Red velvet muffins? Sign me the _hell_ up.” McCree responded.

Thankfully, their excursion to the prosthesis care section was but a brief one. Jesse was well-practiced with caring for his arm, it seemed. It took only two tries for him to identify the boxes he needed, using the colors on the label as his guide. Hanzo was quick to translate the label, barely even needing to glance at it while reading, and he made sure to grab a light lavender scented laundry detergent, one he knew he could stand, on their way back to the bakery.

Hanzo immediately grabbed and boxed the last red velvet muffin from the case for Jesse before he stopped to see what was left for him to choose from. What he ended up with was the last chocolate chip scone, because they were out of the double chocolate muffin that he wanted. It was alright though. The scones here were delicious as well.

After their quick perusal, and Hanzo giving his basket one last once-over before they began heading up front to the registers. He hesitated on their way back, glancing back towards the drink row. Maybe he should take the chance to go replenish his drink supply, to find a drink that was more soothing his previous attempt. Without a word he ducked to the side, eyes quickly scanning the shelves. He didn’t have much time to waste, not if he didn’t want to slow them down.

It was a quick stop, for he knew what he wanted. The protein drinks made for compact substitutions for meals when he didn't have time to stop and eat. Chocolate was the only flavor he found deliciously palatable, though strawberry would do in a pinch. A small bottle of ginger ale to help settle his stomach if the queasiness hit again. The last things he grabbed were some bottles of Gatorade; both to hold him over until his body stabilized, and to pay McCree back for the drink he had shared with Hanzo. He made sure to pick up a grape flavor. It was one he was sure he could drink.

Hanzo was in line behind McCree, setting the box of pastries down first and then unloading the rest of his basket. He placed the divider down and then pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket.

Perhaps it was because he was occupied with estimating what his total would be, or it might have been while he was busy counting out the bills that he would need to complete this transaction, but when he glanced toward McCree, he noticed that the box from the bakery had managed to somehow slip itself back to the other side of the divider, over onto McCree’s side.

As he moved it back, he noticed that there was also one more item than he had accounted for inside, a dorayaki, essentially two small pancakes filled with sweet bean paste. It wouldn’t be hard to guess who had added that; the more difficult question would be _when_ he had.

Waiting on McCree, Hanzo quietly watched as he happily chatted with the cashier, his conversation simple, English interspersed with the Japanese, asking the woman how her day was as. It was a delight to watch Jesse interact with others, he had such a beautiful way of conversing with people, one that was so sincere and friendly and oh so warm. Hanzo couldn’t help but wonder; was it because he was an extrovert who thrived on the reciprocation, or because he was practicing a form of soft manipulation?

Still observing him, Hanzo noticed Jesse shaking his head in a playful manner in response to some question that had slipped by Hanzo in the midst of his pondering. Jesse then brushed his loose bangs out of his face as he glanced Hanzo’s way, giving the man a breathtakingly beautiful smile before he focused instead on preparing to pay his bill. The only thing Hanzo could do was avert his eyes pretending to miss how the soft grin bloomed into a wide smirk, mortified he had been caught staring so intently.

As the cashier neared finishing scanning his items, he noticed that the box from the bakery had migrated back to McCree’s side of the divider. He quickly whisked it back onto his side, stealing it right back from under McCree’s nose before it could be scanned. Hanzo cocked his head enough that he could send McCree a smug glance. He had won this round, though. With Jesse’s focus occupied elsewhere, it seemed like this victory was going to go annoyingly unnoticed. Damn it.

As he waited for acknowledgement of some kind, he thrived on acknowledgment, he noticed that Jesse was busy fishing through his wallet, asking questions about the coins in his hand, unsure of what they were worth. Hanzo was already stepping forward, getting his own money out, when he saw the cashier attempting to count the coins McCree held without touching him. She best not touch him.

Wallet already in hand, Hanzo acquired the change that McCree needed, silently brushing his hand aside to pay with exact change. Silently motioning for the cashier’s attention, she looked questioningly as Jesse for approval before she dared accept the other payment.

“He’s with me,” McCree confirmed with a soft smile. “Or rather, I’m with him. Or so I’d like to think.”

With his permission implied, she opened a hand towards Hanzo. He dropped the coins into one of her hands as Jesse quickly passed her some bills with the offer. She punched in the payment and then the receipt was being handed to McCree as he grabbed his bags, skedaddling out of Hanzo’s way.

“You’re too good to me, O.” he quietly said as he walked away. Hanzo said nothing in reply. If he spoke now his facade would be broken, and anyone who noticed would take far more notice than before. Silence, for now, would be his only reply.

Now that it was his turn, Hanzo stepped over towards the cashier, money waiting in his pocketed hand. He knew what the general total would be. Usually, he preferred to know the number down to a twenty yen variable, but he’d been more generous this time. Considering he had done most of his shopping while in a surprisingly functional daze, he had to be.

“ _Did you find everything you needed?_ ” the chipper cashier asked in Japanese, already scanning his items at a blazing speed. He nodded in reply. Even if he had the energy to want to talk to other people, he would be a fool to waste it on this brief encounter.

“ _Do you have a card with us?”_  Hanzo shook his head, waiting for the next step in this scripted interaction. He glanced towards where McCree had wandered off, watching the man wait by the door for him. He seemed to be reading the news headlines, taking advantage of the clear glass to not have to pay for the paper. Either some article had caught his interest, or he was just practicing his translating.

Either way, he was gorgeous, broad shoulders doing more than enough to fill out his bright shirt, his backside filling out his jeans nicely, with Hanzo finding himself envious of the casual hand that was slipped into the back pocket. It should be his hand in there. That would show everyone who Jesse belonged to.

 _He’s still not yours to claim_ , a terse voice in his head said once more, w _hat have you done to deserve more than what you have? You’re lucky to have even that, you ungrateful brat!_

The scolding snapped him back to reality, like a bucket of cold water poured down his spine to awaken him at three in the morning. Thanks to the distraction, he had missed the cashier telling him the total, but thankfully the numbers flashed onto the screen for him to read. He had enough ready. Thank goodness. Digging through a wallet while a line was waiting was a feeling he despised.

  
_“Cash or credit?”_  Hanzo held the money out, waiting until she was ready for it to be handed to her. He, in turn, was handed his change and his receipt.

Pocketing it, he looked up as the cashier wished him a nice evening, tapping a flat hand’s fingertips against his chin, motioning towards the cashier as he silently gave her a sign of thanks.

If there was anything his travels had taught him it was that the disabled were far more invisible than any able person would ever be, whether they wanted to be or not. Thus it had proven prudent to learn the rudimentary basics of sign language, to keep up the guise when he wished to apply it. The books he found had been awkward to learn from, this seemed to be a subject more easily gleaned through visuals, but they were better than nothing.

He rejoined Jesse at the door and the two of them left together. It wasn’t until that they were walking down the sidewalk, back towards their motel until Hanzo finally responded to McCree. “I could say the same,” he muttered back, adjusting his grip on his bags. “You’re too good to me as well.”

Jesse seemed pleased with the eventual response. It was debatable whether he was happier about what Hanzo had said, or more that Hanzo had broken his silence to even said anything. “How’s your hand doin’?” Jesse asked, noticing the shifting.

“Fine. Spectacular even.” Hanzo replied flatly, teasing McCree. “I could probably carry your bags too with no issue.”

“No. No, don’t you dare.” McCree said, waving his hand as he was swatting the idea away. “Your hand is fit to bust open again if you strain it. Just ‘cause it don’t hurt don’t mean it’s healed. So don’t you go agitating it with my bags. In fact-” McCree held out his hand expectantly. “Give me some of yours.”

Hanzo eyed the outstretched hand, stunned by how his attempt at a joke had backfired so horribly. “No. I can-”

“O.” McCree gave him a baleful look. “Please. I want to help. Let me.”

Hanzo was fit to say no, and argue that he could, in fact, carry his bags himself and that he was no child needing to be catered to, but he stopped. McCree’s lower lip was stuck out in a pout, his wide eyes begging Hanzo to take him up on the offer. He looked so eager yet despondent, hopeful yet crushed. How could Hanzo possibly say no to this look twice in one day?

Without a word, Hanzo held out his left hand, letting McCree take the bags that it carried. He didn’t need the help, but it would be rude of him to rebuff an offer so sincere, wouldn’t it? He had no choice in the matter. Clearly.

On their walk back, McCree lit up a cigarette, tearing open a new pack of smokes. He let out a happy little sigh once the cigarette was between his lips. Their walk back at this point was near wordless, with McCree smoking and Hanzo happy to walk in silence.

An enthusiastic sales pitch caught Hanzo’s attention and he perked up, looking for the source before he caught himself and feigned a lack of interest. McCree must have caught sight of his twitch, though, because, with teeth clamped down on the cigarette, he asked. “What’s that he’s saying?”

Hanzo shrugged a shoulder too casually. “Just that he’s selling mochi. Nothing important.”

McCree looked towards the sound, watching the man try to pawn his wares. “Mochi, huh? Heard of it before.” he raised his hand up, beckoning and making sure he got the man’s attention as he started walking towards the small, colorful stand. “Always wanted to try it m’self. I’ll get you some too.”

“Jesse, you don’t have to-” Hanzo stopped, aware he had already lost this debate. McCree had already closed the gap between himself and the counter. Hanzo had no choice but to follow after.

Noticing their approach, a young man leaned towards them, eagerly awaiting their order. His hands were folded as he waited, silently giving them time to look over the menu of treats above. He had his customers, trying to continue his sales pitch would be far too pushy and scare them away. Smart man.

“What flavors’re good, O?” McCree asked him, squinting as he tried to read the board. “Or, at least, what kinds do you think are good?”

Hanzo blew out a breath. He wasn’t going to get out of this without answering. “Strawberry and green tea are my favorites.” he reluctantly replied, his voice but a murmur.

McCree had gotten it in his head to buy the mochi, despite Hanzo’s feigned lack of interest. There was no dissuading him now, not with the idea firmly lodged in his head, no stopping him now that he was in motion. Besides, part of Hanzo didn’t want to stop him. Not if it meant him getting what he wanted in the end.

Maybe McCree was doing this for himself. Maybe he was doing this for Hanzo. Would it be so self-centered of him to think so?

Genji used to bring Hanzo treats like these, pretending to buy his silence about his excursions outside of the clan’s estate. Once he had figured out Hanzo’s favorite kinds, through a process of elimination that took about a month, they didn’t even need to acknowledge the exchange. Genji would leave a paper sack in Hanzo’s room, tucked into the bottom drawer of his desk so that it was out of sight.

This had been a sort of tradition for them, Genji’s way of giving Hanzo a taste of the freedom he could not have.

Why did it stop? When? He had to take a second to think, to remember, to force himself to remember.

It seemed to stop around the time when Genji dyed his hair. The clan meeting, one about planning for their futures, had fallen into disarray, with the topic shifting to the elders ripping into what an atrocious look it was, that they thought it was, though fitting for a man who lived his life in the whorehouse. The complaints of his hair had spiraled into an attack on his whole person, from his lack of discipline to his abysmal character to how he was a useless leech and the whore of the family. Only their mother had stood by his side. She had always been his favorite, and he hers.

The whole time, Genji had been silently taking the insults, eyes begging for mercy from Hanzo, the elders’ golden child, pleading with him to say something. He hadn’t. Hanzo had just silently sat there, letting the elders say their piece, unwilling to make himself a leave his safety in the shadows.

For once in his life he wasn’t the target of their disdain, it was the precious baby of the family, Genji, who was and Hanzo just couldn’t find the will to step into the line of fire and take the bullets for him once again. The only time he spoke was to quietly, reluctantly, agree with the elder’s comments when prompted. Despite his earlier, quiet, private compliments of the look, Hanzo offered no defense for his brother, no opposition to anything that the elders uttered as he was torn to shreds.

What they said was right, it was always right.

Just how stupid had he been?

That night, Genji snuck out, as usual, doing God knows what on the dark side of town. In the morning he had left a paper bag on Hanzo’s desk, not hidden in a desk, clearly wanting this one to be seen, to be found. Upon quick investigation, if only so he could hide it from prying eyes, Hanzo had discovered it empty, lacking the treats that Genji had left on his desk a hundred times before.

It was a message, a sign, a declaration of how Hanzo had abandoned him, forgotten him, so he would do the same in turn.

...No. Wait. No, the bag hadn’t been empty. There had been a note. One that Hanzo had glanced at and then immediately balled up in disgust, yes, but there had been one, despite his attempt to hide it in the back of his mind.

 _“Which one of us is really the whore of the family?”_  it had read.

At the time Hanzo didn’t understand it, too infuriated by what he thought the implication was to see the true meaning of the question. Looking back, mind clear of the fog, now he could see it. Genji hadn’t been snarking about how he had more sex than Hanzo, and he hadn’t been implying that Hanzo, with his own clan-approved hookup now and then, was the actual sexual deviant of the family. No, it was something else.

It was a comment about how Hanzo had prostituted himself for the clan, letting them fuck him over and over as he did nothing but take the punishment, letting them rip him apart from the inside out for the smallest drop of affection, no matter how fake and saccharine it was. He sold his body and his mind to them, too inexperienced and brainwashed to think to ask for more than a penance of decent treatment in return, needing some form of closeness and willing to pay his life for it. He was nothing more than a whore, one raised by pimps just to be cashed in on later.

He really was the true whore of, and for, the family.

When had Genji gotten so wise? Despite his playboy ways and his goofy demeanor, Genji’s intuition certainly had bloomed towards- towards the end his life there. Or maybe he had always been perceptive, and just too unmotivated to properly utilize it.

Of course to think that would mean that Genji had been had been playing a dangerous game with not only the clan but with the selfish puppet of a man Hanzo had been as well.

Back then, if he had found out that Genji was capable of manipulation that could put the clan - the clan that Hanzo that had been training his whole life to lead - in such a precarious position for his own personal amusement, then he would have…

he would have…

he would have had to...

Stop.

Stop. No more thinking about this. It would be impossible to guess what would have happened, that was down a different path. There was no reason to take a horrid trip back to that time all because of-

“-Strawberry and green tea mochi? Those do sound good. Let’s get one of each of those.” McCree replied, his voice bringing Hanzo back down to reality.

Blinking twice, centering himself, Hanzo watched as McCree tried to translate the menu in front of him, deciding what he himself should get. “Let’s also get… the chocolate and coffee ones, and a red bean one, a classic, from what I’ve heard.” he paused, leaning in towards Hanzo. “Those do say chocolate and coffee, right? I ain’t too keen on finding out there’s yet another way to say oyster.”

“They are chocolate and coffee and red bean, yes,” Hanzo assured him, awkwardly smiling slowly under his mask, his senses yet to have solidified enough for proper facial control. McCree’s joking was more than welcome right now, giving Hanzo something more pleasant in the present to focus on. “There’s not an oyster to be found on the menu, I promise. And if there were, I would guide you as far away from it as I could.”

McCree gave him a cheeky grin, gently shoulder-checking him in return for the teasing. He gave the man the rest of his order and reached for his wallet that he had tucked into his back pocket. His aim must have been off today because his goosed Hanzo’s backside before he finagled his hand back towards his own back pocket. Hanzo tensed at the touch, jumping slightly, and kept his surprise silent save for a startled grunt.

McCree handed Hanzo the small paper bag of treats as he finished up with the transaction. As happy as Hanzo was that the mochi he had been coveting was his, he still felt guilty about the whole situation. “I’ll pay you back once we’re back in the room,” Hanzo promised, gingerly holding the sack in the crook of his arm.

“You bought me muffins, I bought you mochis,” McCree replied with an easy shrug. “Give me a bite of yours and we’re even.”

That seemed too easy. Deceptively so. “That’s all you want?” Hanzo asked, just to be sure.

“Yep. Unless you’re willing to let me have a nibble of something else.” the look on McCree’s face was cocky, a smirk on his lips and a brow cocked high. He seemed serious, his usual joking demeanor toned down into something more flirtatious. Hanzo took a moment to ponder what McCree meant; he could only come to one conclusion.

“I’ll give you a bite of my scone too.” he sincerely promised as they began walking once more

McCree paused as Hanzo began to trail ahead. “That wasn’t exactly what I was implying.” he confessed following after Hanzo, blowing out a puff of smoke “But it’ll do, I suppose. Trade you part of my muffin for it.”

As they headed back, Hanzo couldn’t help but nibble on his lip, eyes drifting down towards the bag in his arms. His mouth was watering at the thought of biting into the sweet treat, his patience beginning to wear thin. Before long, he was entertaining the thought of digging into them on their walk back.

“Would it offend you if I ate my mochi now?” Hanzo asked, blurting out the question before he meant to, immediately mortified that he had even asked. It wasn’t polite to eat here, especially not with how he’d have to cover up, but he really, _really_  wanted them now. His impulse control hadn’t been the strongest as of late. He had denied himself things he wanted for so long, it was hard to keep doing it without a legitimate reason why he shouldn’t indulge.

 _Do you deserve to?,_ a voice asked.

No. He deserved nothing.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t just have what he wanted regardless. He was allowed to want, to have, to crave, to lust, just like everyone else, every now and then. It wouldn’t hurt anyone if he let himself enjoy something for once in his miserable life, no one else should care if, every now and then, he allowed himself something to make his existence just a bit more bearable.

No one else should care. There was nothing wrong with enjoying himself with the occasional pleasure. He had told himself this a hundred times, always debating if he had earned the small indulgence.

So why didn’t he ever truly believe he had?

“Offend me?” McCree asked curiously, “Well, only if you’re flipping me off while you take ‘em all for yourself, then I might be a bit offended, yeah. But if you’re asking if I mind if you indulge, then no-” He paused as he shifted more of the bags to his left hand, pulling the sack off of Hanzo’s arm, and shaking it open, holding it out to him. “In fact, I think I might chow down too. We kinda deserve to indulge after this whole mess, don’t you think so?” he asked, dropping his cigarette onto the concrete and snuffing it out with his heel.

Hanzo didn’t, not him, but he wouldn’t say no to satisfying his cravings. He picked his strawberry mochi out of the sack, shifting his own bags so that they rested on his now horizontal forearm as he finagled his mask down, hand covering the lower half of his face, from the lower bridge of his nose down to the chin that was ducked in towards his shoulder. The position was awkward and left Hanzo’s gaze looking coyer than he liked, but it would have to do.

Casting one last glance up at McCree, who was busy trying to figure out which of his brown mochi was chocolate and which was coffee, Hanzo carefully took a bite of his strawberry one, tilting his hand just enough that the plump sugary dessert could grace his lips. His teeth sunk into the tender treat easily, the dough folding over itself as Hanzo tore his bite off.

He slowly chewed, closing his eyes to better savor the sweet strawberry bursting with juicy flavor. It was springtime in a dessert, a reminder of his youth, the taste still the same despite how everything else had changed. It was still sweet despite how his life had soured, it was still fresh where everything else had turned rotten, still delicious when everything else was still so hard to swallow.

The mochi reminded him of his past, but unlike the drink from earlier, it reminded him of a better time; the time that he and his brother had been on the same side, the two of them against the world, beating against the cage from their youth. Despite how they had quibbled, despite how separately they had been raised, despite how they had always been pitted against each other, they had always found a way to eventually make up.

….Almost always.

As he finished the bite, he slowly opened his eyes, unaware when they had closed. Blinking to refocus his vision, he was met with the sight of McCree watching him with a look that could only be described as one of adoration. His brown eyes were full of delight and wonder, his lips quirked into a smile so soft that he probably wasn’t even aware of its presence. As Hanzo’s eyes met his, McCree averted his stare, clearly aware that he had been caught as his smile bloomed wider, into something more cheeky.

“It’s good,” Hanzo said, defending his lapse. It felt hard to defend himself when he was standing around like an idiot, his hand covering the lower half of his face like a child fighting to keep a secret from slipping through their lips.

“I can tell,” McCree replied catching the defiant tone hiding underneath Hanzo’s response. “That must have been a hell of a moment you were having. I’m jealous.”

“It’s a simple treat, but it holds many memories,” Hanzo admitted, starting to walk and eat. The moment had passed, as the special moment behind first bites always do, and they best be heading back to the room before it grew too late.

McCree began walking alongside him. “It may be that I’m a simple man, but I always did find that simple foods are the best.” McCree agreed, taking a small nibble of his own, testing the feel of the mochi in his mouth.

“There is beauty in simplicity,” Hanzo replied, casting McCree another inadvertently coy glance as he took another bite of his mochi.

McCree, in the best way, was a simple man. He had said it himself, and Hanzo agreed. He didn’t overcomplicate things, he was blunt, though not as much as Hanzo, and straight to the point. His laid-back attitude allowed him to look at most situations rationally and take the moment he needed to come up with a simple, uncomplicated solution. His emotions were simple to read, he made no effort in hiding them from Hanzo, as far as he could tell, and wore his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see.

His looks were simple as well, but by no means plain. His style was casual, simple, but he wore it too well. His body was far from complicated, with one prosthetic limb being the only surprise factor to account for; it was simple to describe: strong, sturdy, muscular, warm, beautiful, breathtaking, with eyes far too soft, a smile far too big, a body far too gorgeous to leave unmarked, hair too long to not pull, and a backside far too nice to keep to himself.

There was beauty in simplicity. And this beauty’s name was Jesse McCree.

After taking another bite for himself, Hanzo held out his strawberry mochi to Jesse, offering him a bite.

“No thank you, I’ll pass on that one,” McCree said. “I think that one’s too special for you to share and I can understand why.”

“No-” Hanzo swallowed quickly so that he wasn’t talking with his mouth full. “No, it’s not too special. Not for you.” He held it out so that McCree could see the filling. “Look, it’s a real strawberry. How can you say no to real strawberry, especially one as delicious as this?”

McCree bit his lip. “I do like strawberries…” he murmured. He cast the enticing treat another glance. “You sure you don’t mind?” he asked, eyes flicking back towards Hanzo’s.

“I wouldn’t be offering you any if I did,” Hanzo admitted, stepping in front of McCree, stopping them, holding it out towards him. McCree leaned in for a bite, sharp teeth tentatively tearing into the soft dough. The bite easily ripped off and as he let the taste rollover his taste buds, Jesse’s eyes half shut and he chewed slowly, taking his time to enjoy the fruity flavor.

Giving a happy hum of appreciation, Jesse swallowed the bite. “Okay, that is pretty damn good.” he agreed, the juice from the berry shimmering on his lips. “Unfortunate that I didn’t get a moment of my own. Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” Hanzo asked, growing annoyed by the shine on Jesse’s lips. Popping the small remainder of his mochi into his mouth to free his hand, he reached up and swiped his thumb along the kissable lips, wiping the juice off. “How could you possibly have a ‘moment’ over with a mochi you’ve just tried for the first time, Jesse?”

“Well, for starters, it’ll remind me of you,-” McCree replied, grabbing Hanzo’s hand and bringing it up to his lips, “-my strawberry-loving beauty.” His mouth wrapped around Hanzo’s thumb, his tongue lazily swirling around the digit as he licked the juice off. He clearly took pride in the flush traveling along Hanzo’s skin.

Hanzo silently watched the display through lidded eyes, unable to reply with words when his mind was entertaining the idle curiosity of what other wonders McCree could do with that mouth of his.

“-It’ll remind me of the pretty, excited lil’ look you get in your eyes when you see something you really, _really_  want.” McCree continued in a low murmur, his lips slipping off of the thumb with a noisy pop. He looked up at Hanzo and grinned against the captive hand. “Yeah, that one.” McCree finished, tilting his head to kiss the back of the hand. “That look right there.”

His eyes met Hanzo’s, the deep brown pools heavier, their usual joking lightness replaced by a stare more serious and intense. Talking was unnecessary, unneeded, as their longing, hungry gazes spoke volumes without a word passing between them. Then slowly, almost reluctantly, Jesse released Hanzo’s hand.

And slowly, and reluctantly, Hanzo let it fall back to his side. His breathing had quietly sped up, though he hadn’t realized it until now, not until the quick pace of puffs on his palm caught his attention. He made it his goal to steady himself. What a lofty goal at a moment like this.

“I think I’ll manage to find myself my own strawberry-flavored moment.” McCree quietly continued, fingers trailing along the hand covering Hanzo’s face. “And I know that when I do, it’ll probably be this scene-” His finger tapped the back of Hanzo’s hand thoughtfully, “Though, I might take some creative liberties and add in the smallest, chastestsest smooch the world has ever not seen. With your blessing, of course.”

While surprised by the statement, Hanzo recovered quickly. “For asking like such an utmost gentleman, yes. You have my blessing.” Hanzo replied, carefully removing Jesse’s hand from his face and beginning to walk again. “It does not even have to be the chaste-est-est.” The word didn't roll as cleanly off his tongue as it did Jesse's, though that might be because Jesse blazed through the word, smashing all the syllables together into something close, rather than saying them all.

“Can it just be chaste?” McCree asked excitedly, his long stride quickly catching up with him. “Can I go that far?”

With childish enthusiasm like that, how could Hanzo possibly say no? “You may,” Hanzo said, pulling his mask back down over his face. He’d indulge in the green tea mochi later. For now, the strawberry had been enough to satisfy his craving.

McCree’s gaze dipped south as he rubbed the back of his neck. “So, you, ah, interested in the idea of helping me, ah, _work on_  that kissing scene and giving me an idea of what it’d be like or-?...” McCree paused, eyes flicking back towards Hanzo’s. “I mean, I’d close my eyes real tight. The absolute tightest.” He paused again. “No pressure though. I’m pretty creative. I can manage on my own if you ain’t ready for, ahm, acting out the scene.”

Through all his rambling, Hanzo finally managed to piece together what McCree was asking. He was placing a request for the chaste kiss on Hanzo’s side of the field, letting him decide what happened next. And while it was tempting, it wasn’t the right time. Not here, not out in public, not for their first time.

A kiss that didn’t matter would be easy; Jesse mattered. That made something that should have been easy much more difficult.

“No. I’m not ready,” Hanzo told him. “I want my face to stay covered. One way or another. At all times. Please understand that.”

It was a softer, truthful rejection. He wasn’t rejecting Jesse entirely. All blame was on the mask and the identity that Hanzo wished to conceal. He shouldered it all. It was easy for him to. He was used to it.

Thankfully Jesse seemed to catch on to his phrasing. “I completely understand. I assumed that would be the case.” Jesse said. “Thought I’d ask, though, no harm in it right? And I don’t blame you; you’ve put a hell of a lot of work into staying covered up, I’d have been surprised if you just threw all that effort away for the chasestest kiss ever.”

“We agreed on chaste.” Hanzo reminded him, scolding him with a wag of the finger.

“Right, right. A chaste kiss.” McCree chuckled. “I do have to commend you for the dedication to the cover-up. I’m sure I’d have slipped up by now. Especially once you put one of my favorite foods in front of me.”

Hanzo was amused by the statement. “If you think I would throw away my anonymity for a simple mochi, then you're sadly mistaken,” Hanzo replied teasingly. “Despite how good they are, they wouldn’t be worth that.”

McCree paused. “...You're saying that there's something that _would_  convince you to throw your identity away?” he asked curiously.

Hanzo pondered the question. “Oh, well… a really nice dinner, perhaps. A _nice_  one.” he replied, emphasizing the fact that not just any kind of dinner would do. “And dessert. A **_very_** _n_ _ice_ one.”

McCree grinned as he pictured the scene, “Yeah, I could see you getting’ cozy at one of those high-class restaurants, with unpronounceable wine names and the lights dimmed just enough to keep me guessing what you actually look like,” he said. “An Italian place, that’d be nice, wouldn’t it? One where one of them hoity-toity waiters comes over an’ says ‘Buon-ah ser-ah, signor... can I-ah get-ah you somethin’ ta’ drink?’”

“Jesse, that was a horrific attempt at an accent.” Hanzo laughed, eyes shut tight as he tried to stifle his chuckle. “Though I suppose battling through your southern twang can’t be easy.”

“I thought it was pretty good, considerin’ the twang,” McCree replied teasingly. “I learned it from watchin’ a lot of spaghetti westerns.”

Hanzo rolled the term around in his head. “Macaroni westerns, you mean?” he asked, seeing if it was a different name for a genre he was aware of.

“Yeah, sure, call it what you like,” McCree replied. “There are lotsa’ names for it, I’m sure.” A smile bloomed onto McCree’s face. “Lotsa’ pasta-bilites, you might say.”

Hanzo groaned at the pun, playfully shoving McCree. Bad puns aside, the rest of the derailing conversation had caught his interest. “Jesse, were you mentally taking me out on a date in that imaginary restaurant of yours?” Hanzo asked.

“Yeah, I suppose,” McCree replied smoothly. “And, y’know, I'd love to physically too.”

Hanzo was surprised by how easily the words rolled off of Jesse’s tongue, how easily he was able to confess his desires. It was flattering, to be the star of that desire. It was refreshing, to for communication be so clear and intent not hidden behind a wall of false words. A confession so honest was touching, inspiring, and Hanzo found himself wanting to respond in kind.

“Later, perhaps,” he promised. “Maybe after we’ve finished our tasks we will find right time and place to give the evening of your fantasies a try.”

McCree’s face flushed and lips parted into a wordless look of surprise. For once, McCree was speechless. That in of itself was astonishing, but add in that Hanzo had outflirted the master of honeyed words? That was truly extraordinary.

“I, ah, golly.” McCree rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful smile lighting up his reddened face. “That’d be-... That’d be right nice, O. Just say the word and I’m there.”

“I would hope so,” Hanzo replied, cocky grin on his hidden lips. “It wouldn’t be much of a date if you weren’t.”

McCree chuckled nervously, his laugh trailing off, aware of how off-guard he had been thrown by Hanzo’s promise of a date. For all the stalling Hanzo did, McCree clearly hadn’t been expecting such a sudden leap forward for the two of them. Hanzo had surprised him and, with as much as he was enjoying this moment, he would have to do it more in the future.

“Did you want a bite?” Jesse asked, offering the end of his mochi to Hanzo in an effort to fill the silence.

“Yes.” Hanzo replied, brushing away the hand holding the mochi as he looked McCree up and down,“But not of that.”

  
McCree popped the end of his treat into his mouth, his hand reaching up for the hat that wasn’t on his head, leaving him unable to hide behind the long brim. The hand fell back to his side and they walked in silence. There was a pleased grin on McCree’s face, clearly satisfied by how their excursion had gone, and Hanzo found that he was rather content with it as well.

As they walked, Hanzo reached down, letting his hand hang next to McCree’s. He bumped his knuckles against Jesse’s and then slowly, gently, hooked his pinky around McCree’s, giving the man plenty of time to pull away, to silently scold him for such a childish action. He didn’t; instead, McCree wrapped his pinky around Hanzo’s, squeezing ever so slightly, just enough to tell him that they were welcome to stay like this as long as he wanted.

Jesse was right; he was pretty good at holding hands.

As long as Hanzo wanted, it seemed, was until they reached their hotel. It would be easier to walk without them tripping over each other. It only made sense for them to separate here. McCree apparently didn’t think the same, with how Hanzo had to stop and pointedly unhook Jesse’s pinky from his own.

It was a faster trip to their room this time, with Hanzo able to walk under his own power this time, and it was only a minute later that he was flashing the keycard and getting them back in the room. They put their bags down on the table, immediately taking care of the few refrigerated items they had gotten.

Once they had straightened up the mess that they had made, McCree sat down at the foot of the bed and looked at Hanzo. “So what do you want to do now?” he asked. “You were feelin’ iffy, so you make the call. You wanna eat now, clean up, go do laundry, or somethin’ else?”

Hanzo took a moment to weight the options laid out before him, deciding on the best plan of attack. “I personally would rather get the laundry started,” he replied. “But if you’d rather eat first, I wouldn’t mind. You bought food from the deli, didn’t you? Hot food; it’d be a shame if you couldn’t enjoy it properly.”

“Pshaw, don’t worry about that,” McCree said, waving his hand as if he was trying to wave off Hanzo’s offer. “It was just a potato, and it already cooled off on the walk on here. I’m gonna have to heat it up anyway, so we might as well pop it in the fridge, go down there an’ clean our clothes, an’ then have a nice warm microwaved meal to enjoy when we get back.”

“That sounds wonderful and you’re too generous. I can’t stand wearing this shirt much longer.” McCree seemed confused by the statement, his eyes widening as they trailed along his torso, so Hanzo hastened to clarify. “The blood has dried up the sleeve and down my side. It’s… uncomfortable to say the least.”

McCree stood up, giving a soft sound of understanding as he stretched his back. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. Wish you’d said something earlier. Woulda’ made the laundry room our first stop.”

“It didn’t bother me until a bit ago.” Hanzo said, already gathering the clothes he wanted to wash. “I’m not sure I even have any clean clothes left to wear while we wash the rest,” he commented idly. He couldn’t not wear a shirt. The tattoo he wore was far too noticeable to display so carelessly. He’d have to cover it with something, even if that something had to be one of his less filthy shirts. It was a shame really. He had wanted to get everything clean.

McCree must have seen his annoyance. “I got a shirt that ain’t too bad for me to wear if you want this one.” he offered, tugging at the yellow shirt he wore. “This is only the second time I’ve worn it. The first was just to try it on. Been packed in my bag until now. Seems to be around your size anyway, maybe a lil’ big.”

Hanzo eyed the shirt briefly before he looked at McCree’s face. “You have something else to wear?” He did want the shirt, it would let him wash everything else, but he didn’t want to take it if it was the only clean one McCree had left.

He nodded. “I do. Here-” McCree paused to pull the shirt off over his head and held it out to Hanzo, who had to rip his eyes away McCree’s firm pectorals and focus on the conversation. “Go’awn. Take it. I got another one and you don’t got any, so it works out fine.”

At his insistence, Hanzo took the shirt and a pair of pants, wordlessly heading into the bathroom to change into it. He shut the door behind him and dropped his jacket to the floor, peeling the filthy shirt off of his skin. Taking a moment to wet a washcloth, he briefly scrubbed himself, roughly rubbing the cloth on his bloody arm. Changing would mean nothing if he still felt dirty underneath. Once he managed to reach a point of satisfaction with his cleanliness and then redressed, this time wearing some sweatpants and McCree’s extra shirt under his jacket instead of his own.

He stepped back out of the room, but McCree, busy piling his clothes and the washcloth into the laundry basket, waved him back inside. “Hand me those towels I got hanging up. Might as well wash those too,” he said. Hanzo was distracted by McCree in his new shirt, the red checkered patterned button-up was rolled up at the sleeves, complementing both his darker skin tone and his thick, muscled forearms, and missed the request at first.

After a brief moment, one where Hanzo finally realized what he was being asked to do, he obliged him and grabbed the not-quite-yet-dry towels, adding them to his own pile of clothes in his arms. McCree nudged the basket his way, silently telling him to go ahead and pile his clothes on top.

Satisfied they had everything they wanted to wash, the two of them headed down to the laundry room. Hanzo lead the way and McCree followed alongside with the basket and the detergent. It was a short jaunt down to the room, for it was only on the second floor; one flight of stairs and a quick walk down the hallway and they were there.

It was a small room, with only two washers and two dryers, but thankfully it was unoccupied. Hanzo wrote their room number on the reservation board, giving them priority to claim the room as their own. He didn’t feel as if they would have to be fighting for privacy, though. This wasn’t a prime time for tourists and the family here always set Hanzo up in the quieter building, per his request. The laundry room should be as good as theirs for as long as they needed.

Hanzo began dropping the lighter clothes into the washer, picking them up in small handfuls to make sure they weren’t balled up with any of the darker colors. McCree helped with the unloading, stopping Hanzo as they neared the bottom of the basket. “I’ll take my jeans an’ the darks an’ load them over there in the other one. You get this one started.”

Uncapping the detergent, Hanzo was stopped mid-pour as McCree reached over, clasping his hand over Hanzo’s and tilting the bottle towards himself. He took a small sniff, humming his approval for the scent. “You picked a right nice one.” he murmured. “Ain’t gonna mind that at all.”

Hanzo was too distracted by the large warm hand covering his to respond. Thankfully, McCree gently righted the bottle, reminding him of what he had been doing. He added the detergent to the load, capping the bottle and then handed it over to McCree.

The washing machine began rumbling once it was running. It was an old model, some shaking was expected. Just resting a hand on it sent a strong vibration up through his arm, making his nerves tingle. Not too keen on the sensation, he took his hand off and shook the feeling away, glancing over at McCree to see how his loading was going.

The detergent hanging limply by his side, McCree had his lips puckered to the side, a sign he was thinking about something. “How busy is this place, d’ya think?” he asked, already toeing at his shoes.

Hanzo was thrown off by the odd question. “Not that busy. Why?” He was curious about what McCree could possibly be thinking. What kind of plan was forming in his mind?

His question was answered when McCree cast one more look at the door and began unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?” Hanzo asked, eyes roaming over the expansion of exposed torso in front of him, unable to tear them away. Scars. How had he not seen the thin and thick battle scars scattered about on his form before? Where could they all have come from?

“I don’t know the next time I’m gonna find a washing machine, O,” McCree said, tossing the shirt to the side and then unbuckling his pants as he toed off his sneakers. “If this place ain’t full of hustle an’ bustle, then I might as well wash all that I got.” He punctuated his sentence by dropping his pants to the floor, leaving him clad in nothing but a pair of dark gray boxers and the holster around his middle.

Hanzo stood in silence as McCree added his clothes into the washing pile, finding his brain forgetting how to word as he dumbly stared at the mostly bare man before him. McCree’s legs were long and muscular, gorgeously so. His behind was indeed as generous as Hanzo had thought, probably all thanks to the sheer strength to be found in his lower half.

Eyes pausing on the slight bulge visible through the tight boxers, and noting that he seemed to be packing in more ways than one, he finally left himself take in the majesty that was McCree’s torso. Thick, muscular, warm, and covered in just the right amount of hair; he was gorgeous. Hanzo was staring, he knew that, but he found himself unable to turn away from taking in the sight before him.

“You seem a lil’ distracted there, O,” McCree said, his deep voice shaking Hanzo out of his stupor. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh. Things.” Hanzo responded, proud of himself for remembering how to talk when McCree had moved into arm’s reach, making sure Hanzo’s eyes were on him. Goddamn it.

“What kind of things?” McCree asked, with a sweet cock of his head, too-long hair brushing against his cheek. He knew exactly what he was doing to him. Damn him.

“You’re naked.” Hanzo finally forced his eyes north, looking into McCree’s. It was hard to look away, hard to keep himself focused on the present and not what he wanted to be the future.

“That is a fact, yes,” McCree said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Though ain’t all true. I still got boxers on.” He smirked with a boyish charm, one as sweet as honey,

“By all measures, you’re indecent,” Hanzo argued, trying in vain to not drown in those brown pools of McCree’s eyes. “If someone were to walk in here now-”

“Then they’d get quite the eyeful.” McCree interrupted. “Listen, O, I thought this out. You said it wasn’t busy and I’d rather run the risk of potential embarrassment than definite dirty clothes. If someone were to walk in here now then they’d see me in my underwear, yes. Don’t really got another choice and I don't care.”

Hanzo nibbled his lip under his mask, debating. If someone were to walk in, then Hanzo didn’t want them to have a reason to commit them to memory. The chance of it was low, but if there was even a sliver of a chance of an encounter, then Hanzo had to prepare for it. There was only one option for him to take.

“Here-” he sighed, unzipping his coat. “Take this.”

“O, that’s yours, I don’t-”

“Take. It.” Hanzo growled. “I’m dressed. You at least need to be somewhat decent. Just take the damn coat and cover yourself up.”

McCree didn’t argue. He just took the coat and slipped it on, marveling at the feel and how the hem of the coat dipped far enough to mostly cover up his boxers. “This is so goddamn big,” he said, looking down over himself

“I like my clothes big,” Hanzo said, huffing and ready to defend his casual fashion sense. “They’re more comfortable that way.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. This jacket is an’ soft on the inside, it’s like wearing a blanket.” McCree said, finally pouring the detergent into the machine. He capped the bottle and set it up on the tall shelf behind the machine as he talked. “I see why you wear it all the time. It is so damn comfortable. And it looks so good on you. Though, it is rather nice to see what you look like underneath when you’re not wearing the coat or the armor.”

Hanzo leaned back in surprise at the statement. “Is that so?” he asked slowly, watching as McCree closed the washing machine and started it, his long legs distracting as they stuck out from underneath the coat. He had hair all over, didn't he? Hanzo felt his cheeks grow red as his mind took that thought and ran away with it and he had to remind himself to focus. “...What do you mean, Jesse?”

“Is that a sincere question or are you just fishing for compliments?” McCree asked as he turned back towards Hanzo. Hanzo, confused and still unsure of what McCree was implying, on whether he was seeking a chance at identification, darted his eyes up and down in thought before he looked back to McCree, who let out a deep chuckle. “You really that lost?”

“I-... What are you saying, Jesse?” Hanzo asked. Was he identifiable like this? He did use the jacket to conceal his identity, but he didn’t think it was so necessary. Was it? Did Jesse mean to figure out who he was while his jacket was off? Was this a threat of some kind?

No. Not Jesse. Jesse wouldn’t.

Right?

“What I’m saying that without this big ol’ jacket or that armor cinched around your middle I finally get to see what you kinda look like underneath all that bulk.” McCree paused to smirk. “And I’m liking what I’m seeing.”

As McCree's eyes roamed over his body, Hanzo felt himself growing warm. When a hum of approval slipped from Jesse’s throat, he felt fit to combust. Oh. That’s what he meant.

This was… This was flirtation, not a threat. Sometimes he forgot that that was even a thing that could be said to him. The not-threats.  
  
“You better not try to tell me you don’t know how gorgeous you are. I know you know.” McCree teased. He took a step back, leaning back against the wall. He hooked his hand into his boxer’s waistband, treating it as he would the waistband of his jeans, letting his fingers hang down in front, his eyes roaming over Hanzo’s form. “You alright there, O? For real this time. I wanna make sure that you ain't feelin’ dizzy or nothing with it all that blood rushin’ up and down.”

The hands were pulling on the boxers just enough to threaten Hanzo with the idle thought of what treasures could lie underneath. Distracted, Hanzo took a minute to understand what he was asking. “I’m fine,” he finally croaked.

That, unsurprisingly, didn't convince McCree. The man looked at him with a hint of concern, his cockiness giving way to concern, his plush lips pushed into a tight pout. “O. Sincerely now. Are you okay?”

Hanzo gulped at the question, unable to vocalize an answer. How did he explain the scene playing in his head, with Jesse’s lips red and plump from use, his gaze coy as he looked up from his knees? How did he explain that, other guests be damned, Hanzo wanted him here and now? How did he explain that?

No, really, how did he explain that? What was going on with him? His focus dwindling and his resolve weak, what would his father and mother say? Why was he so weak right now?

_The dragon hungers._

Mother of fuck.

No. No. He was not playing this game; Jesse was going to be more than a conquest used to satisfy a need. Jesse was important. Take your ‘need a mate’ talk and fuck yourselves, dragon instincts.

“C’mon, O. You’re scaring me,” McCree said, his voice dripping with not arousal, but anxiousness. “What's goin’ on in that head of yours?”

The best thing Hanzo could do was lie. Unfortunately, lying required brain functionality. Hanzo had none to spare. All he could do was stand there in a mortified silence.

“That dirty, huh?” Hanzo couldn't stop a look of mortified surprise from crossing his thankfully masked face. McCree grinned. “I saw that look in your eyes back at the store when I said ‘lube’, O. You went straight into the gutter then, and you're diving right back in there now.”

Oh fuck, he noticed. Of course he did. Jesse was smart like that. “I apologize-”. Bastard. Fool. Weakling. Needy, needy whore.

“You're thinking too much.” McCree’s voice roused him from his thoughts. “You got a look in your eyes that tells me you're thinking way too much, honey. That's a bad habit.”

Hanzo had always been told he was thinking too much. Back at the clan, they would chide him for taking the time to dwell on a problem in the same breath they would use to accuse him of stupidity. He could never please them back there. He could never win. He doubted he would manage anything close to a victory here either. He never won, not in the battles that he wanted to, at least.

“You nervous?” McCree asked, trying to get an answer out of him. “Am I scaring you? Want me to pull back? Put some pants on? I told you to tell me what you want, and I meant it. Anything and everything you want, O. I don’t mind.”

“No. No, no, it's not you. You’re not the problem. You're wonderful. Beautiful. Sublime.” Hanzo replied. “No, it's me. I'm thinking too much. I can't do this right now. I'm sorry.”

“Can't. Not won't, but can't?” McCree asked, slowly reaching up and massaging the side of Hanzo's head. Weak as he was, Hanzo relaxed into the sensation, eyelids drooping slightly. “That means there's a chance you could another time, right?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Hanzo responded tiredly, too honest for his own good. “Just… not yet.”

“Oh good.” McCree sighed in relief. “I just had to make sure that I had a chance and that I ain't chasing after you like an ass does a carrot on a stick.”

“I-” What was he saying? “Yes, I am interested. I'm just not ready to…”

“-take the mask off. I get that. I told you, I understand.” McCree interrupted. He wasn't completely right with the guess, though he wasn't completely wrong either. “And there ain't no rush. We can take it as slow as you wanna go. I've said it before an’ I'll say it again. I'm a patient man, O.”

“Are you?” Hanzo asked, nuzzling against the hand. He shouldn’t be so comforted by a such a simple action. Yet he was, time and time again, and he found himself fine with that, growing bolder in his eagerness and actions.

“Absolutely. A lil’ bit of flirting an’ an occasional love tap or two and I'll be a happy man.” McCree said. “Just bump of our fingers, a soft bump on the hip and a hand running through hair every now and then would be enough for me.”

“Like a squeezed hand on a behind?” Hanzo teased, looking Jesse’s way through lidded eyes. “Unless that truly was an accident and your aim is far worse than you brag.”

“No siree, that was intentional.” McCree grinned. “The opportunity was there. And after you gave me a caress back at the market, how could I not?”

Hanzo bit his lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain that the “caress” back at the store had actually been an accidental bump without ruining the moment. This was a nice moment. He’d hate to ruin it over some small technicality, but it did bother him that Jesse assumed that he had sought the man out to get fresh with him, instead of for the comfort that he had needed back there and-

Hanzo felt a hand on his chin, tilting his face up towards McCree’s. “You’re doing it again,” McCree said with a tut.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Thinkin’.” McCree stooped, leaning in close to Hanzo’s space. “Thought I told you to quit that. Can’t let yourself stop to feel anything if your brain’s too busy runnin’ ninety miles an hour.” Jesse ran his hand up Hanzo’s forehead, brushing his bangs up out of his face. “You do like your overthinkin’, don’t you? I’ve seen you be impulsive before, O. Why don’t you show me some of that spark? No thinking. Just feel. Just this one time.”

Impulsive? He wanted impulsive? Fine. Then impulsive he would get.

Shooting McCree a look of pure defiance, Hanzo looped his hands around McCree’s hips, curling his fingers around him. He pulled McCree’s hips forward, pressing the two of them together, rocking against Jesse’s. The cowboy let out a happy growl, trailing his hands down Hanzo’s arms, clearly excited by the development but unsure of the boundaries.

Hanzo looked up at Jesse, his breathing speeding up as his arousal ramped. His hand moved between them, giving McCree’s crotch a light squeeze, reveling in the soft, breathy moan he goaded from the man. As McCree started to grind up against his hand, Hanzo pulled away much to McCree’s chagrin.

“Oh, you’re cruel.” McCree groaned, his hips shifting to try to steal one last bit of friction from Hanzo, one he didn’t catch. “Gettin’ me all wound up but leaving me hanging? Cruel, cruel man.”

“You told me to stop thinking. To be impulsive.” Hanzo teased, moving his hand up to the back of McCree’s head, proudly meeting his stare as McCree’s lips quirked into an understanding grin. “And I was. I let myself feel and follow that feeling like you asked. Can you blame me for not thinking ahead when you asked me not to think?”

“Tease.” McCree lovingly chided, eyes trailing down to the pale throat in front of him. “Teasing me with such a pretty throat, begging to be decorated by bites an’ bruises.” he murmured, “You are a cruel tease of a man.”

“‘Tease’, says the man who’s stripped down to almost nothing. I suppose you’ll just have to impulsively return the favor.” Hanzo dared with an unseen smirk on his lips, raising a brow. “Though I never took you for a throat lover.”

McCree laughed quietly. “I never thought I was either, but I'll be honest, O, you're not givin’ me much else to work with.” he paused, briefly looking over his fully dressed partner before he continued. “Not that that's a problem or nothin’. As long as you’re comfortable, I’d ask for nothing more.”

McCree rested a hand on the arch of Hanzo’s back, not pushing or pulling him either way, seemingly content to just be close to him. He licked his lips, the silence settling in around them. The loud rumble of a washing machine echoed through the room, the pipes rattled, and the sound of water rushing could have been maddening. Despite all the noise, the only sound Hanzo could hear was the soft, nervous breaths from McCree as the man slowly, ever so slowly, leaned in closer to Hanzo.

Hanzo let himself shift towards McCree, let himself relax into the touch, let his eyes fall shut. He felt safe around McCree, safe enough to drop his guard completely, safe enough to let out a soft moan of needy approval when he felt a gentle pair of lips plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

The hot trail of breath moved down the side of his face, pausing at his neck. “May I?” McCree asked in a hoarse whisper, his lips waiting close, so close, to Hanzo’s throat, waiting for permission before they dared make contact.

“Ah, ahm-” Hanzo was left speechless, the sensations making him forget how to word again. The combination of the strong hands roaming over his body and strong emotions roaming inside his body were foreign, satisfying a need that Hanzo hadn’t even known he had. Yet, he felt wanting at the same time, near desperate to plunge farther down into the absolute depths of pleasure. “Y-” he swallowed and licked his lips, the ghost of breath on his throat hot and needy and distracting. “Yes.” His reply was but a whisper, but it was all the go-ahead that was needed.

With permission granted, McCree’s lips brushed against his neck. Hanzo was more than ready to lose himself, eager to, already tilting his neck to give McCree better access to ravish him. Nothing could ruin this moment.

Nothing but the loud blare of the washing machine, the shrill screech obnoxiously announcing that the load was done. The scream shattered the serenity surrounding them, making Hanzo jump, pulling away and protectively shoving McCree behind him in a panic. He wheeled around, fists high and ready for a fight against his assumed assailant.

No one was going to hurt them, not on his watch.

Especially because no one was there.

When it sunk in that the only threat in the room was a finished load of laundry, Hanzo turned back towards McCree, his shoulders slumping low. His heart was pounding in his ears, his breaths coming in slowing gulps as he fought to calm himself down, and he was despising himself for ruining yet another moment. Damn it all to hell.

As he faced McCree, an apology on the tip of his tongue, he only just caught sight of Jesse tucking his gun back into the holster. Had he drawn it in self-defense? His reaction had been lighting quick, letting him arm himself before he realized what was going on. The look on his face told Hanzo that he wasn’t the only one that had been startled by the sound, confirming the answer about the gun. That was oddly comforting.

McCree's face twisted up in displeasure, though it relaxed as he met Hanzo’s eyes before he sighed. “Well, that kinda…” he stopped, though it was clear what he was going to say.

Hanzo finished his thought. “Ruined the moment?” Did it even need to be said?

“Yeah, it… Yeah, it did.” McCree said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. Ah. Fuck.

“That was my fault.” Hanzo sighed. “I shouldn't have startled so much.”

“Whoa, whoa, that ain't your fault. That wasn't what I was saying. I was talking about the machine interrupting us, O.” McCree said quickly to comfort him. “Hell, I’m happy that both you an’ me are ready to kick-ass at a moment’s notice. It’s kinda hot if I’m being honest.”

His thought punctuated with a teasing quirk of his brows, Hanzo felt less guilty. It was nice to feel as if things weren't one's fault. Freeing. Usually, more and more things were being heaped on top of him; it felt nice to have one taken away.

“Since that load of washin’s done, lemme move it to the dryer real quick,” McCree said, already stepping towards the washer. He opened up the door and started moving armfuls of wet clothes to the dryer. It seemed like he was trying to move past the awkwardness of the moment. Perhaps Hanzo should follow his example. That might be for the best.

As Jesse closed the dryer and set the timer, Hanzo noticed the bottle of detergent up on the back of the shelf. Not wanting to forget the mostly full bottle, because they’d probably have to do more laundry after their “jobs”, Hanzo reached up towards the shelf the detergent was stowed on. He rested a hand on the still running washer, the one full of jeans and the heavier clothes, to balance himself, his fingertips just shy of reaching the handle. Jerking when he felt someone press up behind him, he relaxed when he realized it was only McCree.

“Now that there seems to be a mite bit out of your reach.” McCree murmured, pressing flush against Hanzo. “Allow me.”

Hanzo turned his head back towards McCree, too pinned to move much else. Jesse planted a kiss on the side of his head as he reached. McCree bumped against Hanzo against the washing machine, the strong vibrations turning Hanzo’s confused reply into a surprised groan. His hand was pressed against Hanzo’s chest, pushing him tightly back against him, fingers skimming up his left pectoral, and his torso forcing Hanzo up against the shaking washer. Hanzo himself was torn whether to push up more against the washer, and ride out the sensation, or to push back against the crotch brushing against his backside.

His breathing sped up and he pressed back against McCree, caught between wanting out and wanting more. There was a rush of dizziness hitting him straight between the eyes and an intense throbbing of pain in his skull as the blood rushed south, and a disgusting queasiness filled his gut left him feeling sick and panicked.

The vibration was jarring, everything was happening at once, and it was soon becoming too much. Nothing was grounding, it was all leaving him lightheaded and anxious. Having all semblance of control, of his body, inside and out, just ripped away in an instant frightened him, and not in a good, arousing sort of way. A soft panicked whine slipped out of him, one he would have been embarrassed by if he hadn’t been too overwhelmed to notice it, and suddenly everything stopped.

McCree leaned back away from him, keeping Hanzo’s upper half braced against him with a strong arm, but letting him get his feet back under him. The washing machine clunked off, finally finished with its load, finally stilling itself. Hanzo was left panting, forearms braced against the top of the machine as he calmed himself down and regained his balance.

Once McCree was sure that Hanzo had his footing back, he let go, stepping away from him and back towards the other washing machine, giving him space and time to come back down to earth. Hanzo was forcing himself to take measured breaths, eyes shut tight as he reined himself back in. He pushed himself upright, standing tall as he turned and faced McCree, painfully aware of the bulge at his crotch and thankfully for the bagginess of his pants mostly covering it up.

  
He didn’t speak, ashamed and frustrated with himself. He should have been stronger than that. The people in their books always played right into their part; no matter how abrupt the plot shift, the scene always played without a hitch. So why was it that he was such a failure that he always ruined the scene that was laid out in front of him?

He could feel eyes on him, an undoubtedly disappointed stare, with Jesse furious about being interrupted once again. It was understandable, he didn’t blame him. Hanzo had ruined the moment, if that even counted as a moment, and he had no excuse he could give.

How did he explain that he just hadn’t be prepared for the overstimulation of his senses, and that was why he had just shut down? How did he explain that he would love this to happen again some other time, just with a word of warning and preparation first, without sounding like he was acting out of desperation to appease Jesse over this failure?

How did he explain that?

“You’re so pale, hun. White as a sheet.” Jesse said slowly, arms by his sides, hands curled into fists. “O, are you okay. Babydoll?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Hanzo finally rasped, watching as Jesse stepped closer, bracing himself for the inevitable beration. It was coming. He was ready. It was what he had earned, it was what he deserved. He had fucked up, screwed up their game, disappointed once again, and now he was getting what was coming to him. It was only fair.

“Hey. That-. O. Hey.” Jesse said quietly, his hand reaching out and then curling back into a fist as he pulled it back. Was he too disgusted to touch him or was he preparing to strike?

As Hanzo braced himself, McCree held his hand back out slowly, almost as if he were offering it to him, as if he was scared to touch. Finally looking him in the eyes, Hanzo discovered that he wasn’t being looked at with disgust, anger, and disappointment, but fearful concern. “Sorry. I’m so _so_  sorry. I didn’t mean to- I was just trying to reach- That wasn’t supposed to- I-I shouldn't have- I should have- Ah - Stupid. That was dumb. I didn’t mean to scare you, O, I was trying to help- Fucking damn it, I- O-. O. I am so sorry, O, please forgive me.”

The rambling apology caught Hanzo completely off-guard. This wasn’t McCree’s fault. It was his, for being so weak. If anything he should be thanking Jesse for pulling off the second that he realized something was wrong. The only problem with their engagement had been the timing. At any other moment, with just a word advance, and it would have been a moment of surprise bliss.

He didn’t want their game to end. It couldn’t. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for it to.

“Yes, of course, I forgive you, but utter another word and I fear this game will stop before it even starts.” Hanzo interrupted, speaking quickly to ensure no argument counter his words. “You were nothing but a gentleman, which more than makes up for my poor gauge of proper pace. To continue such an unnecessary apology is an insult to us both, one that sees you as a lustful brute and I a spineless milquetoast. We know that neither of those are true. Let's say nothing to imply that they are.”

“O-”

“And if you think I won’t be returning the favor at some point, and serving back the ball that is now in my court, then you’re sadly mistaken. As long as you enjoy this game half as much as I do, you best be ready.”  
Hanzo said tauntingly, finding himself growing thrilled to have control of their next round. That thrill was dulled by the throbbing in his head and behind his eyes, cutting down his bravado. “Later, however. Right now I think I should sit.”

McCree's small, hopeful smile was wiped right off his face, a concerned frown taking hold of his lips. “You're dizzy now, ain't ya’?”

“A bit, yes.” Hanzo conceded, pushing off of the washer and heading towards the bench against the wall. He managed not one step before a strong arm looped back around his middle, offering him a scant amount of support. He knew Jesse was stronger than that. It must be because he was still scared to touch.

“I can walk, Jesse,” Hanzo said, placing a hand on the arm around him, tempted to unpeel the limb from around him despite the fuzziness still lurking in his brain.

“I know you can. “ McCree quickly replied, his arm squeezing growing tighter once his grip was threatened. “But as guilty as I'm feeling, let me do something ta’ help you.”

Hanzo would have preferred walking himself the few steps to the bench, a task he was more than capable of completing on his own, but something in McCree's tone made him relent. There was an unsettled timbre to his voice, one that Hanzo didn't like. If it would make him feel that much better to all but carry Hanzo five feet across the room, then Hanzo would allow it.

Once sitting, Hanzo closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, slouching comfortably. Blocking out the obnoxious fluorescent lights helped him stabilize himself. Soon, he felt better, less queasy, far more relaxed as well, though kept his eyes shut because it felt nice to rest them for a bit.

The bench creaked as McCree finally took a seat next to him, having taken a minute to transfer the washing over to the other dryer. There was a brush of fingers on his arm, a ghost of a touch, and softly stuttered words that stopped before they even started. Besides that, he stayed on his side of the bench, arms folded tight, legs contained to their own space despite their bulk and length.

Hanzo, soon missing all the contact that had been yanked away from him, shifted in his seat, scooting enough that he could bump his thigh against Jesse’s. He felt the other man’s warmth through their clothes. This was nice. He liked this.

He felt Jesse's leg twitch at the contact. There was a rustle of fabric as Jesse uncrossed his arms, tentatively resting a hand on Hanzo's upper thigh. This was nice too. He liked this. At least until McCree's fingers started trailing up towards his knee, hand splayed as he slowly, testingly dragged his hand all along Hanzo’s leg. Then he didn't like it so much anymore.

He jerked his leg away from McCree, turning so that they were out of his reach. McCree flinched, jerking enough that Hanzo could feel it despite his eyes still being closed, and a question that was bubbling out of his throat died in his lips, with him wanting to know if he had crossed a line, what he had done wrong this time. There was the shifting of cloth when he crossed his arms again, and the soft sigh he gave turned into a barely permissible whine of confusion.

Once McCree seemed intent on keeping his hands to himself, Hanzo shifted back. He bumped his leg back against McCree's, returning to their previous position, receiving a hum of confusion in return. After he lightly bumped his leg against Jesse again, McCree pressed his thigh back against him, just enough to add some pressure to the contact but not enough to bully. “This alright with you?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” Hanzo murmured. “This is wonderful.”

Even with his eyes closed, Hanzo knew that soft beautiful smile of adoration was returning of McCree’s lips if the happy, thoughtful hum tickling his ears was anything to go by. He knew he didn't deserve a loving look like that, he hadn't done anything yet to earn it, but he selfishly enjoyed it regardless.

They sat like this awhile, quietly enjoying the light contact. Words were unnecessary at a time like this, just wastes of breath. It was quiet, and the silence comforting despite the ruckus from the dryers threatening it. That silence was eventually shattered by Jesse giving a startled yelp, one that had Hanzo cracking open an eye to see what the matter was.

“Jesse?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“Your knife!” Jesse replied, yanking his hand out of the jacket pocket. As Hanzo opened his mouth, ready to point out that he had many knives and Jesse needed to be more specific, McCree continued. “Your pocket stabbed me.”

Hanzo frowned in thought. The only knife in his pocket was, believe or not, a pocket knife. It wasn’t a very good knife, rather a poor excuse for a knife actually, and he just kept it around for the corkscrew. Besides, that knife should be shut tight, just attached to a keychain that didn’t hold really any keys-

Oh.

Oh, Hanzo knew what had stabbed Jesse. Before he could voice that he’d really prefer Jesse not pull the keychain out of his pocket, Jesse had pulled the keychain out of his pocket. He fingered at it suspiciously, trying to figure out what had stabbed him, his eyes narrowing as he inspected it. As he slowly spun the metal toy throwing star, he made a sound of realization. He had found the culprit and Hanzo’s shameful secret.

“What’s this?” he asked, giving the toy another spin. “This some secret ninja weapon? Torture device? Codebreaker or maker of some kind? C'mon, O, what's the gadget for?”

“No,” Hanzo replied slowly, offering no elaboration in hopes that Jesse would drop the subject. The man looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer, and Hanzo knew he couldn’t stall. “It’s just a toy. It’s not important.”

“Well, considering that you’re toting it around everywhere, I’d say it’s important to you,” Jesse replied, giving it another spin. “So, O, why’s a fella’ like you carrying around a toy that’s not important?”

Hanzo’s eyes were glued to the rotation, watching it spin a moment before he looked away. “It… The spinning… I sometimes find it comforting or relaxing or grounding to toy with it. And it’s hidden in my pocket, so no one sees it and knows of its existence.” Hanzo admitted, arms crossing defensively over his chest. “But I know it’s stupid and pointless and shameful and useless and nothing but a child’s toy. I don’t need you to say it too.”

“O, I wasn’t gonna say anything like that,” McCree said, spinning the toy again with a flick of his thumb. “I like it and I can see why you like it, and I think it’s positively quaint.” He gave it another spin. “Might keep an eye out for one of these for myself. I think I’m starting to see why you keep it on hand.”

“You can have it.” Hanzo offered, proud of himself for keeping the reluctance out of his voice. He didn’t want to give it up, finding another one that he approved of, and that didn’t look childish, would be a pain, but it felt like the step that good manners dictated that he do.

“What?” Oh, no. Nah, I’m good.” McCree said, holding the keychain out to Hanzo. “I’ll just keep an eye out for one that I want. Yours is slick, I didn’t know they made these in anything other than bright, cheap plastic, but I think I want something less-… “ He rubbed his thumb against the tip, searching for the word he wanted. “-pointy. Besides, it’s important to you, whether you want to admit it or not; I’m not gonna be the one to take it away.”

Hanzo eyed the keychain before he slowly took it back, carefully removing it from the outstretched hand. “I’ll let you know if I find any that you might like,” Hanzo told him, holding the keychain close, shamefully relieved that the spinner was still his. “Less pointy ones.”

“Please do, O.” McCree grinned, arms crossing relaxedly over his body. Despite the pockets of the jacket now being safe, for wallets didn’t bite like sharp metal points did, McCree didn’t seem keen on risking another poked finger. He leaned back against the wall and Hanzo followed suit, pressing his leg back against McCree, seeking some contact. Jesse pressed back reassuringly, thankfully leaving Hanzo alone about the toy. At least he seemed to understand its purpose, what it did for Hanzo. Not everyone did.

The two of them sat in a long silence as they waited on the dryer, one that soon turned into half-dozes and drifting-offs cut short before they could even wade into the sea of sleep. Their sitting-uprights slouched into leaning-againsts as they used each other for support. Soon, the pace of Jesse's breathing told Hanzo that he had started napping, though only lightly judging by the occasional twitches, and how heavily he was leaning on Hanzo only confirmed that fact.

At one point, in the middle of their wait in the pale purgatory that was the laundry room, Hanzo quietly stood, making sure that Jesse wouldn’t tip, and shut off the first dryer, quieting it a few seconds before it would sound its completion, and moved the laundry to the basket. He moved carefully, silently, taking care not to rouse Jesse from his light doze. Some rest would be good for him. He definitely needed it after the time he had been having, moreso than Hanzo did. Returning to his seat, Hanzo was pleased that his stealth had ensured that Jesse continued sleeping. Unfortunately, his effort was soon proved somewhat fruitless.

Thanks to the warmth and calm around them, Hanzo was nearly asleep himself when McCree began mumbling in his sleep, rousing him. “...Gabe…” there was a pause. “...‘Honor six’…” Gabe was a name that Hanzo understood, one that McCree had said numerous times now. Honor six, however, he didn't. What did that mean?

“...’ll go scout.” He shifted against Hanzo in his sleep, his head falling down onto his shoulder. There was a long silence, a pleasant calm before the storm, and then it broke.

The twitches grew worse, harsher, his head jerked against Hanzo, his breathing sped up, and he let out soft, troubled moans, a clear indicator of a dream turned dark. With a huge gasp, he awoke, shooting up off of Hanzo, jerking away and folding down upon himself, arms clenched tight in what Hanzo assumed was a pseudohug.

“Jesse?” Hanzo asked carefully, receiving only panicked pants in reply. There was an urge to place a hand on him, to soothe him the same way that Jesse comforted him, but Hanzo didn't. He had no way of knowing how Jesse would receive such an action right now, and he didn't want to risk making things worse.

“Jesse?” he tried again. He wasn't sure if he was helping or if Jesse had his own method of self-comfort, but he was calming down. His breathing soon stabilized and he eventually sat back upright, arms still wrapped around himself. “Jesse? Are you alright?”

The man finally seemed to hear him, turning his way. His eyes seemed unfocused, taking a moment to zero in in Hanzo. “Ah-” the rumble of the dryer caught his attention and he paused to look over at the sound, assessing the danger in the room. “Ah.”

Hanzo patiently waited for Jesse to get his bearings. He let the man look around the room in silence, offering no respite when McCree looked at him in confusion, even after he realized that the “pseudohug” had really been Jesse reaching for his gun. The moment that the look on McCree’s face changed from befuddled to ashamed, and his hand returned to his lap, Hanzo knew that he was back.

“Bad dream?” Hanzo asked quietly, allowing the statement to either be used as a singular question or a prompt. He didn't know how deeply he was allowed to probe, and he didn't want to breach any boundaries. Just as McCree had done earlier, Hanzo would let him set the pace.

“You could say that,” McCree said tiredly. “Bad memories really.”

“That I understand.” He did understand, far too well. He also understood that this branch of the conversation was over judging by the vague reply, so he would offer Jesse a different avenue to verbally trudge down. “Is there anything you need? A drink? A snack? Something else?... My silence?”

“No, I’ll manage.” McCree waved him off. “‘Sides, where are you going to find a drink around here?”

“Do you need one?” Hanzo asked, already sitting upright. “I can run and get one from our room.” he paused, eyes looking skyward as he debated his plan of attack. “Actually, I could climb up the outside of the building and eliminate the wide corridors from the return… That could be faster.”

  
A hand on his arm stopped him in the middle of mentally mapping out the building’s blueprint and drawing up a route. “O, I’m fine,” McCree said. Besides, we won’t be here too much longer. The first load of laundry should be done dryin’ soon, right? Then the second, then we’ll be on our way”

“The first load is dried, actually. I moved it to the basket while you were dozing.” Hanzo replied.

“You sneaky bastard.” McCree grinned, and it was a relief to see that look on his face once more. “How’d you manage all that while I was asleep?”

“Actually, I wonder that too,” Hanzo replied. “It’s almost as if I’m a stealthy assassin of some sort… Whenever could I have gotten so masterfully sly?”

“And so masterfully modest too-” The grin growing on McCree’s face was wiped off as the dryer screamed, the shrill beep a signal that load was done. He jerked, eyes immediately shooting to the door, hand back on the gun in his holster. Hanzo let him assess the situation, see that there were no threats, and then stood up once McCree had relaxed back against the wall. Whatever memory had stirred itself up seemed to be a touchy one. Hanzo hadn’t seen McCree so jumpy since he had been fighting for his life against all the assassins back…

Perhaps he not reflect on that at this moment

Handing McCree the keychain, for it seemed like he could use it, Hanzo set to the task of emptying the dryer, somewhat folding the clothes as he added them to the basket. “It’ll be nice to return to the room and get some food and drink. I’m feeling a bit peckish myself.” Hanzo said conversationally. “I’ll even cook an expert meal for you.

  
“You cook? I-” McCree bit his tongue, squinting suspiciously at Hanzo as his thumb spun with the toy. “Now wait a minute. The only thing we’ve got back in our room is a microwave and frozen food. You sayin’ you’re gonna microwave me a meal?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Hanzo replied, pleased that McCree had caught on to the joke. “But I will push the buttons for you _and_  I will do it _expertly_.”

“Golly, O, I’m touched.” McCree exaggeratedly brought a hand to his chest, standing with a flourish. “Now lemme grab some pants and the basket and let’s get back to our room.”

McCree redressed in a pair of jeans and an undershirt, giving a pleased hum at their warmth, and then, with Hanzo’s permission, continued to don the jacket. He dropped Hanzo’s keychain back into the coat pocket, picked up the basket and the two of them had a thankfully peaceful walk back up to their room. Hanzo unlocked the door and they stepped inside.

McCree toed off his shoes by the door and then headed further into the room, setting the basket down on the bed. “I’ll sort,” he said, settling down onto the bed as he stripped off the jacket, setting it on the foot for Hanzo to take. “You go ahead an’ get yourself somethin’ to eat.”

“I’ll eat after a shower.” Hanzo swiped his jacket back, donning the warm coat as he crouched in front of the minifridge. “What do you want to eat?” he asked McCree. “I’m cooking, remember?

“Oh, that’s right, _expertly_ … I’ll just have- um. Huh.” McCree paused mid-thought, distracted as he looked Hanzo over. “Pardon m’askin’, O, but just to make sure; Japan is a place where you drop your shoes by the door, right? Just wanna make sure I haven’t been dumpin’ my kicks for no reason an’ lookin’ like a fool, y’know?”

“Typically, yes, shoes are removed. If anyone dared call you a fool tell me their name and they’ll best soon think otherwise.” Hanzo answered. “Now what did you want to eat?”

“I was gonna reheat the potato and have the chicken pot pie tonight,” McCree told him. “So, uh, you gonna kick your boots off an’ relax?”

“Unnecessary.” Hanzo tersely replied as he opened the pot pie’s package with his large pocket knife, the one that was hiddenly sheathed inside the waistband f his pants, rereading the instructions before he put the food into the microwave. With the bowl on the turntable, Hanzo shut the door and then made a show of setting the timer, pressing the last button with a circular flourish of a motion that punctuated his sentence. “I never relax.”

McCree’s brows raised at the comment, but decided not to push the conversation, nearly finished with folding the clothes, bouncing the subject in a different direction. “So you really meant it when you said you were gonna microwave my food, huh?”

“I did.” Hanzo replied seriously.

“And, damn, that was an expert button push.” McCree chuckled.

“Wasn’t it, though? Only the best for you.” Hanzo grinned behind the mask, watching as McCree scooted off the bed. “I am good with my hands.” He added, delivering the line straight, leaving McCree wondering if he was intended to read it as dirty and flirty or an unintentional slip of the tongue. Hanzo wasn't quite sure which he meant himself.

“Duly noted. You’ll have to give me a demonstration some time.” Jesse said, clearly trying his luck. “And anyway, makin’ me dinner? Well, gosh, I feel spoiled. Thank you. But, uh, let me do the potato if you don’t mind. I got a method to reheatin’ ‘em.” McCree said, dropping the folded clothes back into the basket. “Lemme take care of this, and then I’ll kick back an’ do enough relaxin’ for the both of us.”

“As you wish.” Hanzo was sure to stop the timer before it shrilly beeped at its completion, not wishing to doom either of them to another screech of an alarm today. They didn’t need to put up with that yet again.

When he turned back, he noticed that McCree had fetched his tool case from his bag and had taken a seat on the bed. He crossed a leg, resting his foot on his knee, and rested the open case on the crook of his leg. All his focus was on the tools laid out before him, and it made Hanzo curious.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, watching Jesse start to fiddle with his arm.

“Nah, no, nothing’s wrong. Just left my arm on too long while being hunted. Didn’t feel safe enough to take it off.” McCree replied. “My stump’s feeling raw ‘cause of it. Figured it’d be best to let it air for the night. That and I want to apply the lube and water repellant tonight so it’ll be dry for tomorrow. The coatings are wearing thin.”

The actual disconnection only took another minute and Jesse was already starting to pull it off when he became aware of the sudden silence. “That ain’t gonna bother you too much, is it?” Jesse asked hesitantly. “If I take it off, I mean. ‘Cause I know it sometimes bothers people an’-”

Hanzo’s eyes were locked on to the arm, he couldn’t help it, and it took him a moment to snap back, eyes seeking McCree’s face. “No. No, it will not,” he assured him, heading towards the bed to grab some clothes from the basket. “Please, do whatever you need to make yourself comfortable.”

With a nod McCree finished his task, setting his arm down on the bed and capping the port with a cover so that the nerve connections were no longer exposed. Ready to finish cooking his dinner, McCree stood. Despite having just taken his arm off, he forgot to account for the fact it was missing and he was lighter now and ended up near flying off of the bed towards Hanzo.

Hanzo reached out and tried to help stabilize him as Jesse bumped into the man, their chests colliding as McCree reached out to keep himself from falling. Hands cinching at McCree’s sides, he took a step back as the two of them regained their balance, keeping the two of them upright. “Whoa there, cowboy,” Hanzo said, eyes flicking back to the stump for only a second. “Are you alright?”

“Yessir,” McCree said with a chuckle, leaning into Hanzo’s grip. It took a second for Hanzo to determine that McCree did have his footing back. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one of them hungry for physical contact.

“You’re sure?” Hanzo asked, waiting for an argument out of McCree, a reason to think he had been mistaken. Getting none, he reluctantly let McCree go. “Careful.”

“I’ll be careful,” McCree told him, making his way around Hanzo. His body tilted to the side as he walked. It seemed he had to make a conscious effort to recalibrate his balance now that he was lighter on one side. He seemed completely thrown off and had to make a conscious effort to shift his weight in the other direction.

McCree took a seat near the head of the bed and got ready to dig in. He probably wanted to eat his food while it was hot, and then go back and heat the rest up. How had he lost his arm? Hanzo couldn’t help but wonder as he examined the remaining stump.

Hopefully, it had been quick, with suffering cut down to a minimum. Hopefully, he had had a say in the makings of what would eventually become his arm, and his life. Hopefully.

Pausing before he dug in, McCree looked Hanzo’s way. “ _Itadakimasu?_ ” he asked, the question clear as the words took a dip into some sweet southern twang. Distracted, Hanzo took a second to hear the question.

“What? Yes. That’s how it’s said. Go ahead.” he replied, attention snapping back to the present as he processed what McCree had said. Awkwardly, he stood, fumbling for the clothes and towels he had set down. “I best take that shower now.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’m gonna get some homework done while you’re in there, once I’m done eatin’.” McCree replied, jokingly adding, “Just be sure to leave me some hot water, O.”

“But of course,” Hanzo replied, curious. “Homework, though? Of what sort?”

“Need to make a plan of attack for the research facility. I got access to the blueprints through part of my system. I can use that to lay out a path to the objective and make sure we have multiple exits if things go south.” McCree replied. “Figure I’ll work on it tonight and then resume work tomorrow before or after we get your thing done and finish it tomorrow night. The next morning’ll be go-time.”

“Ah.” With the bundle in his arms and his hands full, Hanzo made one last pause outside of the doorway. “You’re certain there’s nothing you need before I am otherwise occupied?”

“O. I’m fine. Just short an arm right now, I’m not an invalid. Don’t mean I can’t take care of m’self, though I appreciate the offer. If I need a hand, I got waiting for me on the dresser.” McCree told him. “And, hey, O? Leave the door unlocked, a’ight? Just in case you pass out something in the shower, I want to be able to get to you without breaking down a door. Because if I think you’re in trouble, I will break down that fucking door.”

“I’ll leave it unlocked, Jesse.” Hanzo replied, before he shut the door, “But only because it’s you asking.”

Stepping into the bathroom, Hanzo placed his clothes down on the counter and set the towels down on the toilet lid. He stripped out of the loaned shirt, removed his boots, and slipped off his pants, and then slid open the shower curtain. He turned the handle and a stream of water began flowing from the tub faucet. A quick pull of a lever had it raining from the shower head.

He stood outside of the shower for a moment, eyeing the flow before he made a move to step inside. Voices echoed in his head, those he knew to be his dragons and he was sure he already knew what they wanted.

“Yes, you may get in the shower,” he told his dragons, giving them permission to manifest. Not that they ever actually _needed_  his permission. They did what they wanted. If they did wait, it was only a courtesy.

Perchance he was too lenient with these creatures.

Perchance it was his way to silently apologize to them.

Without a moment’s hesitation, his dragons had formed by his feet, waiting for the signal that the water was nice and hot and ready for them. Testing the water with his hand, Hanzo tried it once, twice, three times before the water was just right. He gave them a nod, a silent sign to go ahead, and they pounced inside.

Their clawed feet skittered on the wet tile and they preened under the spray. Jumping up and down, they enjoyed the small amount of puddle splashing that they could accomplish in such a space. As the water soaked them, they shook excitedly, acting more like bathing dogs than regal dragons.

Showers had always been a weakness for the girls; they were such a rarity while on the run, and when he took rural jobs. This love affair with the hot spray might be yet another trait they picked up from him.

After a few minutes of letting them enjoy the shower alone, he made the move to step inside but they chided him and he hesitated once more.

“ _You shouldn’t, Hanzo,_ ” Migi said.

“ _Not until you’re taken care of,_ ” Hidari added.

“The cut is bandaged,” he told them gruffly. “And I will rebandage it once I am out.”

“ _That’s not what we meant._ ”

_“And you know it.”_

He silently huffed, watching them going back to enjoying the water without him. How dare they try to police him. He knew how to take care of himself. They had no right in telling him to stay out.

That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? Keeping him out? The clan had done the same thing, acting as if they were speaking out of concern when they were really only trying to manipulate.

Well, he would take it no longer.

He made a move to step into the shower once more. Hidari and Migi whipped their heads around to look at him and hissed angrily, clearly threatening him to cooperate with their restrictive wishes. As the sharp noise hit his ears, his blood boiled. In a fit of anger and frustration, he reached his hand inside and yanked on the shower handle, turning the hot shower into an ice bath in a millisecond.

His dragons shrieked in surprise as the freezing water hit, their cry loud and sharp. They scrambled out, sliding as they clawed for footing, knocking the shampoo off the shelf as the pushed off the wall for momentum, diving back out into the bathroom, out from under the spray. Once they were out, they looked up at him, a sour look on their faces.

“ _Meanie._ ” Migi said.

“ _Scoundrel._ ” Hidari added.

“Brats,” he responded. Before their verbal spat could turn into an all-out brawl, they were interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

“O! Hey!” McCree called through the wood. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Hanzo replied immediately, eyes searching for the towel. If McCree opened the door, would he cover his face, his crotch, his tattoo, or throw it on top of his dragons and shield the troublemakers from sight? He wasn’t sure which he would choose in the heat of the moment. “Why do you ask?”

_Don’t open the door, don’t open the door, don’t open the door._

“What the hell was that squeal?” Jesse asked. “I heard a squeaky squeal and then bottles fallin’... What happened? What was that?”

_Don’t open the door, don’t open the door, don’t open the door._

“Ah-” Hanzo looked down at his dragons, who in turn were looking up at him, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. “You heard that too? Perhaps it was the pipes squealing? Because of the hot water? I’m not sure. Whatever it was, it startled me too. Knocked the shampoo over. Because of it. Yes. Too many noises today.”

**_Don’t open the door, don’t open the door, don’t open the door._ **

“Huh, that’s- Yeah, I get that, feel the same. They should get those pipes checked out.” McCree mused. “So, just to be sure, one more time, you’re okay?”

“I am. I didn’t even drop the shampoo on my foot.” Not that it would have mattered where he could have dropped it. He hadn’t even been in the shower to receive such a blow either. “Go back to what you were doing, Jesse. I’m fine. I promise.”

“Alright. Good to hear.” Jesse replied, letting out a shaken breath. “That sound scared the hell out of me. Thought that you had- Ah well, anyway. Sorry to bother. Enjoy your shower, O.”

His footsteps signaled that he had left the door and traversed back farther into the room. Once he was certain that the door wasn’t going to be opened, he looked down at the dragons. He had planned on being angry with them, ready to chide them for nearly alerting McCree of their existence, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

They had shrunk down while Hanzo had Jesse had been talking, doing their best to cower behind Hanzo’s legs and hide under the towel, out of sight. They too had been fearful of what that encounter could have become, of what happiness could have been ruined, of what future could have been lost. Besides, it wasn’t entirely their fault, it was his as well, so he couldn’t be angry with them.

He couldn’t. He didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to become his teachers, punishing anything less than perfection when even the smallest mistake had been an innocent one. He didn’t want to act out of anger, punishing others as an outlet. Higher-ups in the clan had used those beneath them as punching bags, both verbally and physically, and Hanzo couldn’t say he hadn’t done the same to those he felt deserving of his wrath. His dragons had never been the target of his fury, not for many years, not since they had first bonded, but they were a part of him; they had undoubtedly felt the extent of what it could entail.

He didn’t want to act like his teachers. He didn’t want to become his father. He couldn’t. Not any more than he had already. After all these years, he was finally starting to become his own person; to fall and become that he loathed was one of his fears. He was better than that. At least, he needed to be.

Instead of staying angry, he made an effort for peace. Flicking the handle back towards a pleasantly warm shower, he waited as his dragons looked back up at him. “Go ahead,” he told them. “We’ll share it.”

_“But, Hanzo, you really really shouldn’t-”_

_“Not without-”_

“There is a limit to my generosity,” Hanzo said as he raised a brow down at them. “Do you wish to share it or not?”

His dragons shared a thoughtful look between each other and then silently stepped inside. Hanzo followed after, taking care not to accidentally tread on a paw as he situated himself.

His tense form relaxed under the stream, muscles loosening as the hot water washed over him. Carefully, he bent down and retrieved the fallen shampoo bottle, placing back on the small shelf. He lounged under the stream a minute more before he set to finally washing up.

The bottle of shampoo that he was supposed to use to leave Jesse’s peach untouched, was pleasantly scented, and he wasted no more time before he finally began to lather up his hair with what turned out to be called Sensual Woods. He massaged it into his scalp and then let it sit as he washed himself off, sudsing up a small cloth with the body wash.

Scrubbing roughly at his skin, he only paid a half mind to his cleaning up, and his grooming, more focused on the dragons that were skittering through his legs. The wet tub was slick and now he completely understood why his dragons had been scrambling for a purchase earlier. As long as his balance was centered, he would be fine, he was sure.

As he continued to wash up, he began musing over what tomorrow meant for him. This would be a direct attack on the clan. If word had been true about the clan’s new alliance, then this was a message that had to be sent. Out of anyone to make an alliance with, why them?

This would be a far different trip than he had made in the past, though his intent was the same. This would still be about sending a message, though, instead of serving as the messenger of keeping Genji’s memory alive, he would be threatening them into rethinking their choices. He hoped they’d cooperate. He wasn’t yet sure how far he would go if they didn’t.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember the layout of Shimada Castle. It wasn’t difficult to. He had lived there for years, eventually being forbidden to step outside the gate unattended and unsupervised, for his protection, for his obedience, and to keep him from ruining the pristine image the townspeople had of the clan. If he stayed behind the walls he was allowed to roam without supervision. As someone who had always valued privacy, it was an easy choice.

He was in the middle of going over the guards’ routine and laying out how he was to make his way to the main building undetected when a sharp sensation began cutting through his thoughts. The hot water was beginning to burn in places, the feeling sharp and painful, his skin feeling uncomfortably tight, and he was beginning to grow woozy from the heat. Quickly he tried to wash out the remaining shampoo but gave up as the sensation soon grew intolerable.

Shutting off the water, much to his dragons displeasure, he carefully stepped, near stumbled, out of the shower, taking care not to slip on the tile. He grabbed a towel, haphazardly dried off before he looped it around his waist, limping over to the sink. He turned on the water, letting it run from hot to punishingly cold, and finished rinsing out his hair, eyes shut so that he didn’t have to see the “i-told-you-so” look the dragons had to be sending him.

Finally, hair clean enough that he could stall no longer, he blindly groped for the other towel, trying to reach it before he made a complete, slippery mess of the bathroom. His fingers drifted over towards the toilet lid, where had placed the towel, first finding nothing and then patting the top of a dragons head. The small scamps were begging for attention again, weren’t they? They’d get it. Later. Right now he just wanted to dry off and rest.

He tried reaching again, and again the dragon butted their head against his hand. He skirted his fingers south, but sharp teeth softly nipped at the purlicue of his hand, guiding it back north. Once against, his fingers bumped against the head of a dragon, but this time he felt the snout shove the towel against his fingers. He took it from the waiting mouth and dried his face, and toweled his hair off while he looked their way. The only look they wore was one of concerned sympathy

“Thank you.” he quietly told them, the words heavy as they carried thanks for all that he owed them. They said nothing in reply, understanding what he needed at the moment, though Migi jumped up on the counter just to affectionately butt against his torso. That was fair. He deserved a headbutt.

Giving her a soft pat, he soon busied himself with getting dressed. He changed back into his clothes, a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants, with the jacket a comfortable weight on his shoulders and the boots a comfortable weight on his feet, carefully folding up McCree’s discarded shirt to return. As he pulled his mask back on, he took one last glance in the mirror, finally catching sight of the eyeliner smeared along his cheeks. Ah. He had forgotten to clean it off beforehand, A quick washing up of his face and he was stepping back out the door.

Jesse was sitting on the bed, computer in his lap, as he relaxed back against the pillows. His prosthesis rested on the dresser at the foot of the bed, shining thanks to the goop from his recent maintenance. He was frowning at the screen, so deep in thought that he didn’t even notice Hanzo had stepped out of the bathroom. It wasn’t until Hanzo was walking past the foot of the bed that McCree noticed him.

“Hey, O,” McCree said to him, eyes flicking up over the edge of the screen. “You done?”

“Yes,” Hanzo responded, staring, noting the displeasure on his face. “You seem to be the one who is thinking too much this time. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinkin’ too much, yeah.” McCree said, “Just thinkin’ how to write back an’ tell someone that I’m still alright.”

Hanzo paused, intrigued. “Who?” Who else would be so concerned about Jesse? Was there someone else out there who could take him away?  
McCree’s hesitation in giving an answer fueled his concern.

 _He’s too good for you,_ a voice said.

No, he wasn’t, Hanzo argued. _He_  was too good for _him_.

_He’s more than you deserve._

Well.. yes. He was.

_You haven’t earned this._

He hadn’t.

_And so he’s free to leave and let someone more deserving take him, you selfish brat._

He was. Jesse was free to leave at any time. There was nothing here to keep him, no reason for him to stay. Not unless Hanzo kept him satisfied, pleased, and blissfully content. So far, he had done a spectacular job failing at that.

“Someone from my old job is emailing me. An old friend.” McCree answered, brushing his bangs out of his face. “He emailed me a couple days back. Told me that there might be killers on my tail. Figured I’d write him back an’ tell him I’m alive. The words just aren’t coming. Can’t figure what or how much I want to say.”

Him? Him who? How close was McCree with this him? Why was he so concerned about writing what was right? Why did it matter? Were they that important to him?

This wasn’t fair. He had only just met McCree. How was he supposed to compete with someone who had the advantage of knowing him prior?

“You’re thinking too much, clearly,” Hanzo responded. stiffly. “Just a brief update is all he needs. Three words; ‘I’m fine. Thanks’. What more would you need to say?”

Nothing. There was nothing more that he needed to say. Not to _him_ , whoever he may be.

McCree mused over Hanzo’s words. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Don’t need to overthink this part of it. Better to say somethin’ than nothing at all. That right there is good enough”

“Exactly,” Hanzo responded, ignoring the bloom of jealous possessiveness deep in his gut. He watched as McCree typed out a brief response, and then sent the email, shutting the laptop once he was done. “You’re going to take a shower now then?”

“Yessir,” McCree responded, standing up and setting the laptop down out of the way on the dresser by his arm. “Long as you left me some hot water, I am.”

“I assure you there’s plenty left,” Okami responded with a forced laugh, eyes on him the whole time. His stare was intense. What could possibly be on his mind? Was he worried that McCree was emailing someone about him?

Pretty as the man was, and as much as McCree liked to brag, he knew how to respect a fella’s privacy. There was no need for him to worry. The only thing he had done was what he had said he was gonna do; email Winston and just let him know he was alright. Okami had no reason to worry.

McCree brushed past Okami, bumping slightly against the man as he was retrieving his food from the refrigerator, glancing at the shirt Okami had set on the dresser before he headed for the shower. He paused outside the door, looking back Okami’s way. “Hey, O? You be interested in keepin’ the shirt?” he asked. “To be honest, it probably ain’t nothing I’d be too keen on keepin’ m’self. It’s yours if you want it.”

Okami’s eyes locked on the shirt before they flicked back toward McCree. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm. All yours.” McCree said. “Be a waste for me to toss it later. Besides that, it looked good on you. G’awn an’ take it,” he shrugged. “If you want it, I mean.”

As Okami stood once more and made his way to the shirt, probably to examine it and see if he wanted it, McCree finally stepped inside the room. The bathroom was still delightfully steamy and warm. There wasn’t a chill to be found as he let his pants, and underpants, drop. He unbuttoned the few buttons he had done on his shirt for decency's sake, let it hang loose on his body.

He turned the handle on the shower and then finagled his way out of his shirt, tossing it back on to his pile of clothes. Curious, he threw the handle all the way, setting the shower to the hottest setting, waiting. He let a minute pass by, listening, before he turned it back down to a slightly more reasonable temperature.

He’d been hoping to replicate the pipe shriek from earlier, seeing if he could diagnose it and start pondering a fix, if not for him to do, then to suggest. He was pretty handy, been taught a mish-mash of life skills here and there, but he couldn’t place it if he couldn’t force it. Damn. That was gonna be buggin’ him.

Finally, he stepped inside the shower, happy to find that the peach shampoo that he had half-jokingly, half-seriously, claimed was still untouched. He popped the small bottle open easily despite being down a hand and began to lather up, his mind still occupied by the offer he had been unable to reply to; the offer of returning to Overwatch. It still weighed on his mind, peeping up in the bouts of lonely silence. That was the reason he had even pulled his email back up in the first place, because the organization had once more been on his mind.

And the debate still stood; why go back? Why not go back?

When he was alone he hurt for company, for a distraction, and the thought of going back seemed better than ever before. But then he remembered who he was, and how he could hurt their efforts just by being there. And then Okami would step back into his life, distracting him, just like he had needed, and make his life tolerable again, enjoyable even. And then he would wonder why he’d ever want to leave this behind.

And then he’d find himself alone again, and the cycle would repeat.

_Too much thinking, too much thinking._

It was tiring to think about, so he didn’t, not anymore. He stopped pondering the options, putting them on the back burner for the time being. Instead, he let his mind wander towards his distraction; his wolf.

***  
As his hand began spreading the body wash over his torso, he let it dip south, fingers trailing down towards his crotch, his stomach muscles fluttering at the sensation. If he shut his eyes, he could try to pretend that it wasn’t his hand, if he shut his eyes he could let himself fantasize.

There was nothing wrong with a bit of fantasizing, was there? Just one, small fantasy? It had been so long since he last let himself indulged in this sort of thing. As he had told Okami, they deserved a moment to indulge themselves. This was his.

As his hand wrapped around his shaft, he gave a testing squeeze, moaning softly as he grew hard. He leaned back against a wall, thankful for the grit on the tub floor, letting him get enough of a grip to not risk making a fool of himself. As his hand stroked up and down his phallus, the gears in his head churning as he tried to conjure up a scene to go off, he found himself growling in frustration.

How the hell was he supposed to have a goddamn sexual fantasy with this man when he didn’t even know what ninety-five percent of him looked like? He couldn’t imagine what he looked like bare, ‘cause his mind wasn’t much for superimposing, but most of what Jesse wanted to picture them doing, they couldn’t exactly be doing it clothed.

He really hadn’t been lying when he had said that the throat was the only thing that Okami was giving him to work with. That and his gorgeous eyes. But a throat and a beautiful pair of peepers, an erotica did not make.

He struggled for some sort of middle ground in this fantasy, one where he wouldn’t be second-guessing if he was imagining things right, and finally found it. Okami, leaning over him, in the yellow shirt, the least layered he’d ever seen the man, reaching down and jacking him off, letting McCree sink his teeth into the expanse of his pale throat. That he could go with.

Hell, shift the man behind him and all he’d have to work in was an arm. That was even easier. Of course, doing it that way meant he couldn’t picture a beautiful flush lighting up his cheeks, or the red nips he would leave on his neck, or the how his eyes would grow half-lidded as Jesse pet the side of his head. God, he loved that look.

But while behind him, Okami could whisper dirty nothings and sweet talk to his heart’s content, his voices low and rough as he growled in excitement, manipulating Jesse from behind. He’d probably like that, the manipulating, seemed like his kind of thing. A hand would keep stroking and the other would roam, doing whatever the hell it wanted. His body would press against Jesse’s back, the two of them growing far too warm in the position, but not caring enough to move. He’d lean heavily onto Jesse, making sure that his presence would not go unnoticed while he teased, not letting Jesse come, not without permission.

Alright, this fantasy hadn’t ended up going the way Jesse had planned, but damn it was too good to stop now. Might as well commit fully and ride this one out all the way. He was in too far, and too hard, to quit.

The hand would squeeze, cutting him off before he peaked, forcing him to grind against him for any kind of friction. Okami would entertain the rutting for a minute, making use of Jesse’s desperation to keep exploring, hand tangling thick into his chest hair. Then, calmly, he’d tell McCree to still and let him take of this. Reluctantly, Jesse would calm his hips and then Okami would tell him to stay still and watch, making sure Jesse’s eyes were locked onto the hand on his dick. His strokes would start slow, gentle; then he would increase his pace and his grip as he continued, his pace quick and his grip tight.

Jesse’s hand mirrored the fantasy, following the punishing speed he imagined that Okami would sensual torture him with. It wasn’t long before he came, gritting his teeth as he muffled a pleasured moan, the proof of his masturbation washing down the drain. He panted excitedly, hand still working as he finished out the scene, letting his mind conjuring up whatever the hell it wanted. It was on a roll. Why stop it now?

Even after Jesse came Okami wouldn’t stop. He’d keep jerking him off, bordering a case of heavy overstimulation. It wouldn’t get that far, though. He’d stop just as it started to become too much, his hands gliding up and down Jesse’s body as he told him how good it had been, how _good_ he had been for Okami. He’d pull Jesse back into an affectionate hold, butting his head up against him as he pulled the two of them over, his hand soon threading its way into Jesse’s hair as they lay there in the afterglow.

And that’s when he knew that all this would ever be was fantasy.

Okami was a nice man, gorgeous even, but he didn’t seem like a postcoitus cuddler, not with how he kept pulling away out of Jesse’s grip, no matter how light it was. Sex would be hard and rough and wonderful, but he doubted that he’d easily be able to convince Okami to stay and give it a try. He was too jumpy. Too skittish. Too scared of something that McCree couldn’t see. Too damaged by something McCree didn’t know.

That was hardly a fair assessment, though. They both had their demons. Who was he to knock a man for having secrets when Jesse had his own skeletons stuffed in the back of a closet?  
McCree wasn’t going to force anything. Never. He had said he’d let Okami set the pace and he meant it. His feelings were clear, Okami knew it, and the two of them had something going on, something getting started. He couldn’t ask for more than what he had. That in itself was enough for him right now.

As he had told Okami, he was a patient man. He was. But he knew that it would help his patience last much longer if he occasionally allowed himself to indulge in a more _hands-on_  approach…

Ah, well...

A more _hand_ -on approach anyway.  
***

He lounged under the shower head, scrubbing the peaches and cream body wash all over himself, chuckling under his breath. He had claimed the peach set as a joke really, trying to help lighten Okami’s embarrassment by playing along with the situation, but, damn, did it smell so good. Seemed like he was gonna step out of the room smelling like a bonafide southern peach pie. He was fine with that. Delighted even.

Washing the suds off of his body, and giving his hair one last rinse, he decided he had cleaned up enough and that he should be getting out. Didn’t want to, ‘cause he could live under that stream; the water was a steamy delight and the pressure had been sublime. Figured it was time that he did, though. He had been in here fooling around for long enough.

He shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, scooping up a towel. Shaking his head, he flung off some of the excess water before he rubbed his hair with the towel. After toweling off his body until it was only barely damp, he pulled on his button-down, carefully having to drape it over his shoulders and then pull it on so that he could get his arm in. Putting on his pants was quite an adventure too. It was a hell of a lot easier to take them off than it was to pull them on when a man’s down an arm.

Cleaning up his mess and hanging up the towels only took another minute or two. Once he had left the place in a respectable order he stepped back out into the room. The minute his foot hit the padded carpet, he snapped his eyes shut, remembering that Okami usually liked a word of warning to make sure that his mask was in place.

“O?” he called quietly, waiting a minute for a response before he warned him. There was hardly a sound in the room. Odd. Worrying. “Openin’ m’eyes now, sweetpea.”

He opened his eyes slowly, giving Okami a chance to cover himself up in case he had just noticed that McCree was back out in the room. Without Okami telling him to stop, McCree saw no reason to stumble around with his eyes shut like a kid playing pin the tail on the donkey. It was only after he opened his eyes that he realized why nothing had been said in reply.

Okami was dead asleep on the bed, crumpled in a position where it looked like he had given up sitting around waiting and deciding lay down, sleeping with his head towards the foot and his feet closer to the head of the bed. His legs hung heavily off the bed, meaning that he must have been sitting on the edge, waiting up. How sweet. His hair was fanned out beautifully, his breaths were nothing but sleepy lil’ sighs, his hand curled next to his face, and his neck was arched just enough to tease Jesse, reminding him that it was something that he couldn’t have.

He bit his lip as he eyed it. Okami would wear hickeys so good, they’d compliment his complexion well. If this was a romance story, McCree would wake him up lavishing kisses and nibbles upon the pale expanse, Okami would wake up with nothing but adoration in his eyes, and then they’d have a red-hot rest of the chapter.

But this wasn’t one of their stupid books. This was real life. And McCree was no hero of the story, not the stud of a main character who fucked his way to happiness. He was nothing but a dreamer, willing to wait as long as it took for their plots to finally twist together.

Did that make him a hopeless romantic or a hopeless fool?

As McCree began to tear his gaze away from him, he noticed something that had him grinning. Okami was on top of the blankets again, curled up on top of them all. McCree was beginning to wonder if he even knew how to use them right. Didn't he know that a fella went under the blankets and that they weren't to be used as nesting material?

Ah, he probably did. Still, it was endearing to imagine.

Quietly as he could, only casting the occasional glance back towards Okami, Jesse moved around the room, packing his things back up. He didn't know how early they had to leave tomorrow and he wanted his stuff bagged up and out of sight once they left the building.

He could have sworn that he hadn't made a peep, but apparently one of his shufflings need more muffling, ‘cause he heard the shifting of sheets somewhere behind.

“...Jesse?...” A tired, nap-addled voice said. His voice was thick with sleep, his tone soft and tired as it seemed that he was just getting used to being awake again. Fuck, it was cute.

“Mmm hmm, precious,” McCree replied, his back face Okami as a small smile grew on his lips. “I'm right here.”

“Was waiting for you,” Okami said, and McCree dared not breathe. He was waiting for him? For what?

Before his mind could run away with itself, he scolded himself back to reality. Don't you even start to get ahead of yourself, Jesse McCree

As he turned around, he saw Okami tiredly rubbing his eyes as he sat up, his hair sticking out oddly in places, courtesy of the stylist of sleep toying with his damp bedhead. Fuck, he was cute.

“Cake.” Okami pointed towards the table with his free hand as he rubbed his eye with the heel of the other. “I cut us some cake; I wanted to wait until you were here to indulge.” He stood up, stumbling as he regained his footing and swiped the empty frozen food containers off of the table. “Allow me a moment to wash our ‘plates’ off.”

“Cake, huh?” McCree asked, glancing at the table as Okami brushed by him. There were two big slices of cake cut for them, with the strawberries smack in the center edge. The pieces looked identically sized and cleanly cut, unsurprising considering how Okami seemed to be a hell of a perfectionist, and oh so delicious.

Okami returned to the room, washed and dried containers in hand. His hair had been tamed, tied back now, so he must have seen how fluffy his hair gotten thanks to the mirror. He placed the dishes on the table and looked towards Jesse. “Which piece did you want?”

“Oh, um, golly, I didn't realize I got to choose,” McCree replied, taking another gander at his choices. He didn’t see how it really mattered what he picked. The pieces looked exactly the same. “That one,” he said, pointing to the piece on the right. “I’ll do that one.”

With a nod, Okami slipped a large, partially serrated pocket knife out of his waistband. He must have had a sheath sewn into or clipped onto the inside somehow. Or he just conjured it up somehow. That seemed like something that he could do.

He supported the slice on the knife, using a finger for stabilization, and carefully placed McCree’s piece on his plate. He then took the next piece for himself, replaced the cover on the cake, and then picked it up to put it back in the fridge.

McCree picked up the plastic fork from his meal but hesitated as he stabbed it into his piece. “Where do you want me to eat, O? Here? In the bathroom? In the corner over there?”

“No, no. Eat out here.” Okami insisted. “I assumed that you’d want the table. It would make your endeavor a bit easier, I would think. I can go face the corner. I’m the one causing all this trouble after all. I deserve it.”

McCree frowned at the statement. “Ain’t no trouble at all,” he said, eyes scanning the room as he tried to figure out how they could work around the problem. “I’ll sit on the bed and face the bathroom.”

“But your arm-” Okami sputtered. “Or lack thereof?-”

“I’ll scoot and use the bedside counter if my leg don’t cut it as a make-do table,” he assured him. “That’ll give you the rest of the room to work with.”

Before Okami could utter a word of protest McCree set to his task, scrambling onto the bed and claiming his seat. He set his dish down next to him, hooking his legs a stable makeshift table for his cake. Setting the plate down on his legs, he murmured a quick thanks, as best he could pronounce, and then began to dig in.

As he forked a bite of the moist, silky piece of cake into his mouth, he groaned in appreciation. It was so damn rich and the frosting deliciously thick on the tongue. This was one of the best cakes he had ever eaten, hands down.

Despite how good the cake tasted, though, something had him pausing mid-chew. There was a soft pressure against his back, warm too, and then it finally sunk in; Out of all the places he could have settled down, Okami had decided to sit back-to-back with him.

At first, McCree said nothing. The man was tense, unsure, and he could feel it. The last thing he wanted to do was startle him into leaping off. The two of them ate in silence, small pleasured hums of satisfaction being the only sound between them. Finally, he felt the slouch of relaxation, the sign that Okami had grown comfortable, and a downright sensual moan of dessert appreciation from the man confirmed that fact.

“This cake is so damn good, isn’t it?” McCree said, testing the conversational waters. “I’m so glad you picked this up.”

“Mmm hmm.” Okami hummed happily in reply. “I’m glad that you like it too. And I’m glad you kept it safe. It was meant for you as much as it was for me.” He paused. “Would you like something to drink?”

“A drink does sound nice,” McCree replied, glancing over to the side. “I think I got some whiskey over there.”

“I know,” Okami replied. “It’s what I was offering.”

“Oh, how generous,” McCree replied sarcastically, playfully bumping his elbow back against Okami. “I got it out to drink earlier, but I didn’t. Should be on the dresser. Lemme go get it here real quick.”

Okami reached back and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him pause. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I already have it. Brought it with me.” His sentence was punctuated by the sound of a cap being screwed off of a bottle and the sound of quiet gulps as he indulged first.

With a happy sigh on his lips, Okami reached back and handed McCree the bottle. It was cold, with a chilly layer of condensation, a sign that he had stuck the bottle back in the fridge while McCree had been in the shower. The drink cut nicely through the sweetness of the cake, the honey undertone complementing it in a way.

This must have been his plan once he saw bottle out on the shelf. Sneaky bastard had put some thought into this lil’ cake date of theirs. It wasn’t exactly the date that McCree had been picturing, but he liked it just as much. It was sweet, and not just ‘cause of the delicious cake in his lap.

“So how’s it feel to go maskless for a lil’ while?” McCree asked teasingly, handing the bottle back to Okami. “The fresh air nice?”

Busying getting a pull, Okami took a minute to respond. “I suppose,” he said with a breathless laugh, barely managing to swallow his mouthful of liquid before he replied. “It’s odd to go without. I’m so used to wearing it, but this is rather refreshing too. Fresh air is nice.”

McCree felt the tensing of muscles behind him and the slight turn of the body, and he knew that Okami was handing the bottle back to him. He reached back and took it once more. “Well, I like this. This is nice. Anytime you want to take the mask off and relax back-to-back, just let me know. I’m more than happy to oblige you.” He took a long pull, sucking down a drink quickly, and handed the bottle back to Okami.

“I’ll remember that,” Okami said, quietly adding. “I like this too.”

McCree stabbed his fork into his cake and reached back behind him. The bottle was thrust towards him, the chill brushing against his fingers, as Okami attempted to fulfill what he thought McCree was demanding. That wasn’t what he wanted, though. Not at the moment.

His fingers brushed against the side of Okami’s head, nails bluntly scratching against the peach fuzz of his undercut. He felt him melt into the touch, shoving his head further into McCree’s hand, encouraging him to keep going. Fingers trailing along, Okami leaned back against McCree. McCree responded in kind, pushing back so that they were flush up against each other. Tilting his head back, eyes shut tight, he risked a quick nuzzle and butted his head against Okami’s warm neck.

He felt the man’s shoulders stiffen in surprise, rising as he took in a sharp breath. His body was still as if he didn’t even dare to breathe. Was he getting nervous? How adorable.

“Thanks for the cake, sweetie.” he murmured, lips just brushing against his throat. “Nothing tastes better than a sweet from my sweet.” He inhaled softly; Okami wore Orgasmic Oak, or whatever the hell the shampoo was, so good it almost made McCree want to become a lumberjack, and why not? He did always have a preference for hard wood.

The only reply he received was a soft - so soft he barely heard it - whine of an exhale. He felt a tremble work it’s way under his skin and he decided to have pity on the man, sitting up so that only their backs were touching again. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm him and scare him away. What they had was together was wonderful, what they had together was more than enough, and McCree couldn’t ask for anything more.

As he went back to eating, he felt the cold bottle bump against his left shoulder. It was nudged again and then ripped away as he heard Okami scold himself with a quiet “ _arm, side with arm”_ and then handed back to his right side. He was flustered, thrown off his game by the gesture. While amused, McCree couldn’t help but worry. Had it been too much? McCree didn’t know the boundaries yet, they hadn’t been set; he had thought the gesture small, but maybe it had been too big after all? Damn it.

Yanking the bottle back, McCree took another long pull, mentally berating himself for possibly scaring his wolf off once again. He was a physical person, it was a huge part of how he showed affection. It was difficult to pull back and keep his hands to himself when it felt like he was purposefully neglecting Okami. The small gestures were to placate himself, but what was he supposed to do when even the small gestures were too much?

As he took another long swig, he felt a hand blindly bump against him. Okami wanted the drink, probably. McCree had been holding on to it for too long. He reluctantly held it back over his shoulder, but the hand bumped it away, still searching. The fingers found McCree’s neck and Jesse had the briefest wonder if Okami could kill him with just five fingers.

Probably, was the conclusion that he came to. Painfully as well.

But the hand meant no harm. The fingers danced about on his skin, arm shifting as Okami tried different positions for his reaching back. His touch was soft, barely existent, and surprisingly clumsy. As he trailed from the back of McCree’s neck to his head, it was clear that this wasn’t a practiced gesture, or, at the very least, not a practiced angle. His fingers ruffled McCree’s hair awkwardly on their way up, curling inward as he continued to trail up with his knuckles, and then palmed McCree’s hair back down with a soft pet.

But it didn’t matter how awkwardly he mussed his hair, how unpracticed any of this was because the gesture in itself meant so much more. It was his way of silently saying that how McCree had been touching him had been alright, no matter how he had reacted to it, and his way of trying to reciprocate the affection, to give McCree a taste of the sensation that he had been lavishing upon him. It had been his way of saying that this was alright, that he liked this, and that it was welcome to continue, from either of them.

McCree relaxed the tension that he hadn’t even realized had been in his shoulders. The pulse he hadn’t even realized had been pacing began evening out, and a small burst of happiness bubbled out of his throat with a tired chuckle. His tokens of affection were happily received, the small ones at least, and were allowed. This was allowed. There was nothing more he needed.

His message sent, Okami pulled his hand off of McCree. He took the mostly empty bottle a moment later and took one of the last sips there were to have of the drink. The two of them finished their pieces of cake in silence, having said everything they wanted to, needed to, with and without words.

Once they were finished eating, McCree waited until he heard the soft rustle indicating that the mask had been replaced back onto Okami’s face before he stood. He let the man walk into his line of sight, instead of surprising him with a turn of the head, and Okami took his plate away from McCree. He went straight to the bathroom, rinsing them off once more, and then returned and placed them on the table.

“It’s getting late and we best be rested for tomorrow,” Okami said. “Would you like to go get ready for bed first?”

“Yeah, I will,” McCree said, fetching a small pack from his bag. The night was starting to settle in on his body and he’d love to lay down and finally get some sleep. He took claim of the bathroom first, rinsing and brushing his teeth and finishing with a quick wash of his face and moisturizing of his stump. He didn’t have a long bedtime routine. Just the essentials.

He swapped out with Okami, giving him the bathroom, while he grabbed a book and settled down. He reclined in bed and waited, eyes skimming over the page. He always tried to read a chapter if he could. It was just something stupid to give him something else to think about, something to occupy his mind so that he’d stop thinking so much while he was trying to sleep.

He just finished the short chapter before Okami stepped back out and flicked off the light to the room, leaving the bedside lamps as their only illumination. Snapping his book shut, he placed it on the table next to him and watched as Okami stopped by the bed. He was eyeing it, judging it to see if he was comfortable with the two of them sharing the bed.

“I can sleep on the floor.” McCree offered. “If you ain’t comfortable with this one-bed situation, I mean.”

“No. No, don’t.” Okami replied slowly. “As long as we each stay on our sides, and you keep your hands and feet to yourself, I think this will be adequate. I’m too tired to care, to be honest. I’m sure you feel the same way.”

“Yeah. I’m pooped. But I’ll warn you now that I’m a hell of a cuddler.” McCree said, facing the wall. “I’ll grab a pillow on the preemptive, but if I start encroaching on your territory, feel free to slap me awake and I’ll realign myself.”

“I won’t slap you, Jesse,” Okami promised. “But I will make sure you awaken.” He pulled down the blankets, showing McCree that he did indeed know how blankets worked and crawled into bed. He was wearing his boots to bed, though, which made McCree wonder if he knew how beds were supposed to work.

With what he knew about Okami, it all made sense. The boots part, not the confusion about beds. In their profession, it was best not to be caught with your pants down, but McCree felt like it was okay to relax here. His intuition about that sort of things was usually pretty good.

What did Okami know that he didn’t? Maybe it was just his tense, prepared for everything, personality showing up once again; McCree was certain that if Okami felt like something was off, he would have told him. They were safe for now. It seemed like it would be a quiet night.

McCree reached up and flicked off the light next to him, taking his cue as Okami did the same. “Night, O,” McCree said, pulling the blanket up over himself.

“Goodnight,” Okami replied. There was a pause before he quietly continued. “And, Jesse?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you for indulging in dessert with me,” he said quietly. “We should eat together again sometime, perhaps.”

The words were raw and far more heartfelt than McCree expected. It made sense, though. With his dedication to the mask, mealtimes could undoubtedly get lonely for the man. It was probably the first time he had been able to eat with anyone around for a good while. McCree would make a note to spend more time eating with him if he’d allow it. “‘Course, O. Loved every minute of it, and I’d be happy to do it again,” he replied, and it was the damn truth.

With a tired sigh, he closed his eyes. Getting some rest would be nice and help him be ready for whatever tomorrow held. He closed his eyes and let the exhaustion of the last couple days guide him straight to dreamland. If there was anything he was looking forward to now, it would be enjoying a dreamless night’s sleep with his partner-in-crime right by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got all the event skins for Retribution. I've had to buy all of Hanzo's event skins. He's such an expensive sob, but oh-so-worth it.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and general feedback are super appreciated! Don't be shy!<3  
> (Comments give me huge motivational boosts, not gonna lie).
> 
> Please be sure to share this fic if you like it. That would mean the world to me.
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	10. Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step forward and two steps back  
> Nobody gets too far like that  
> One step forward and two steps back  
> This kind of dance can never last
> 
> (Alternate name ideas: Shimada family reunions are the worst, sixteen shots and then some, whoa nelly, or upgrade; shoot, go back; I SAID GO BACK.).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: This chapter's a little different than the usual fair. Not the most sunshiney-est, if you catch my drift.
> 
> Chapter warnings are in the end notes because they contain massive spoilers for the chapter and they're now optional. Please, please, PLEASE check the end notes if you have any triggers you are concerned about running into. (ctrl+f *** to jump down there and back up here real quick like).
> 
> Another long ride today, y'all. Drinks and snacks recommend (unless you're reading this in bed. Naughty. Get some sleep. Jk I'm not your mom, do what you want.)
> 
> Thank you for being patient. Happy reading!(?)

Guts were gushing out of Jesse’s body, the metallic taste of blood smothering his tongue. The booming crack of gunshots filled the sky, echoing all around him. Despite the deafening explosions, he could just make out a voice screaming in the distance, telling him, ordering him, to move.

So he did. Didn’t know which way to go, but he moved on command, stumbling through the thick smoke and ash of this endless, hellish abyss, choking as it filled his throat.

The world was foggy and he could barely see the path before him as he ran, the fog caking the landscape. He was tripping over his own feet, nearly sprawling face first into the ground numerous times. A hand on his arm stopped his panicked sprinting. He turned to see who it was, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Tears stung at his eyes, leaving hot burning trails down his cheeks as he recognized the familiar face.

Ana. Oh God, he had missed her so much.

“C’mon, Mrs. Ana, we need to run back home,” he said, worriedly bouncing on the balls of his feet, anxiety tingeing his voice. His words felt distant as he said them. Foreign. They were exiting his mouth, but he wasn’t the one saying them.   _Why_ was he saying them?

Her lifeless eyes followed his movements, her face expressionless as she spoke. “ _Run home?  Where?_ ” she asked, her voice hollow. “ _What home do we have left?_ ”

McCree opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t get out a word before a red light reflected off of her eye. A sniper’s sights. The thought of danger barely registered before a crack rang out and her body fell limp to the floor before he could utter a single word of warning.

Blood oozed from under her, flowing freely from the hole in her head. McCree had to swallow down the bile building in his throat in a panic. He ran. It was all he could do. He couldn’t save her, she was gone, so he ran, far far away, glancing back only to see the black fog swallow Ana’s corpse behind him.

And as he ran farther into the foggy abyss, one thought kept looping through his brain; _where did he have to go?_

Blindly running through the smoke, he collided into a wall, getting knocked back flat onto his ass. Gasping in panic, he glanced up to see if there was a way around it.  And that’s when he noticed that it wasn’t actually a brick wall like he had thought; it was Jack, a living wall of strength and muscle, courtesy of the SEP.

Morrison stood in the midst of the chaos, still and sturdy as a statue, surveying the field of destruction around them. “Jack, they need us,” Jesse said. Who needed them? He wasn’t sure, but he was certain that they did.

 _“Do they know that?”_ Jack asked gruffly. _“Did they ever?”_

A rapid beeping at their feet interrupted McCree’s train of thought, wiping any response he could think of from existence.  He looked down to see an unpinned grenade laying at their feet. He tried to shoulder Jack away and move the two of them to a safer location, away from the bomb, but the man was as immovable as stone.

Instead, Jesse was picked up by his collar as if he was light as a feather, and Jack hurled him away. The explosion engulfed the man as McCree skidded on the ground, looking on in horror. There was no blood splatter from the explosion save for the initial red mist cloud, not a part left of the body that had been blown apart. It was like he had vanished.

Then the smoke began to thin and McCree could just make out a silhouette through the fog. He ran towards it, desperate. Someone needed to make sense in this hellhole.

No. Someone needed to make less sense.

His eyes watered in relief when he made out Reyes’s form. His back turned to Jesse, Jesse barreled into him, tripping over his own feet as he ran. If anyone could help him, it would be Gabriel.

“Commander, Reyes, Gabe!” Jesse cried, his voice choked, questions he didn't know he had vomiting out of his throat. “Did you ever regret it? Any of it?”

Reyes’ back stayed turned to Jesse and he said nothing in reply. “Gabe?” Jesse asked again, his voice but a timid whisper as he couldn’t hold back his next question. “...Did you regret me?”

Reyes was facing him now. He never even saw the man turn, but he was looking at him with blood-shot eyes, his stare tired and his undereye bags dark. “ _Never,_ ” he said, his voice as calm and smooth as always. “ _I did what I had to do, what had to be done. I don’t regret a minute of it, including you.”_

Hot tears stung at Jesse’s eyes. Gritting his teeth, he reached out, just needing some kind of contact, just some physical reminder that he was actually wanted, but he stopped and stared at himself with horror. His arms were just bloody stumps, oozing red at the exposed ends, and absolutely burning in pain the moment he realized they were missing.

“Gabe! Gabe, m’arms- They took m’arms!” Jesse was shaking, unable to look away from the amputated limbs, hypnotized by the blood was whipped away as the wind and dust grew stronger. He didn’t know who this they was, but he knew that they had done it.

“It’s okay, Jesse. You’re okay.” Gabe said calmly, resting a hand on Jesse’s bicep, shaking him gently. His voice sounded odd now. Different. Was that him speaking? Or was his voice getting stolen by the wind? “You’re safe here.”

The thick smoke grew thicker still and swirled around Reyes, his body disappearing into the charcoal mist. Even as Reyes’ body faded away, it felt as if there was still a hand on Jesse’s bicep, rocking him and stroking up and down what was left of his arm, the shaking getting rougher.

“Don’t you leave me!” Jesse called out, his feet cemented to the earth in fear. He could only watch as his commander was swallowed by the ink-black ash. “Don’t you dare leave me again!”

Reyes’ voice echoed back towards him, the only part of him that could breach the darkness. “It’s okay, Jesse, it’ll all be okay. I’m here,” he called back, his voice somehow oddly close despite how far he had gone. “You need to _wake up_.”

Eyes snapping open, Jesse awoke terrified. His body felt hot, the arm that he knew wasn’t there burned like the dickens, throbbing in pain, and his face was damp, the pillow soaked. He was panting and shaking, eyes wide as he scanned the room around him for threats, for intel about his whereabouts and current situation.

There was a light on and he turned to see why. The lamp on Okami’s side of the bed was flicked on and the man was sitting up next to him. His hand was massaging Jesse’s bicep, the quiet reassurances soothing, somehow just skirting past the pounding of rushing blood through his ears.

“Shh. I’m here.” Okami murmured, rubbing his palm up and down Jesse’s arm. His eyes were concerned, looking Jesse over to see what he could gauge of the situation. The bleariness in his stare revealed that he had just awoken, most likely because of his nightmare. “It’s okay, Jesse. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.” he whispered, repeating the mantra. It was simple, but simple was probably the best for the both of them considering their tired and frightened states.

And it was working. McCree’s breathing had just begun to level out.  Then another wave of panic hit and he was right back where he started.

Okami had seen and heard everything. He had to witness that pitiful display. Jesse hadn’t wanted to reveal all the baggage that he was carrying until he had Okami on board with the idea of _him,_ of  _them_. The man seemed scared enough of commitment already, but now Jesse had shoved his problems out into the middle of the table. Why would he want to stick around now? How could he possibly benefit from it?

In a fit of fear, Jesse bolted from the bed, throwing blankets off of himself while he made for the bathroom, ignoring whatever the hell Okami said as he ran. He locked the deadbolt on the door and then slammed it shut; the brilliant inorder of his actions resulted in the deadbolt smacking against the frame and the door careening back into him. It hurt. He didn’t care.

He flicked on the faucet and began running lukewarm water over his hand, water he soon hoped turned warm. Splashing it over his face anyway, he made a mess of the bathroom, the tiles at his feet getting wet as the droplets spilled from his hand.

If he kept washing off his face, then he could ignore the figure leaning against the doorway and if he kept blinding himself with water, he wouldn’t have to open his eyes and face the situation he had put himself in. If he burned his skin with the now-steaming water, then maybe he’d wake up from this nightmare and find out that everything was actually fine and motherfucking dandy.

As he let another palmful of water pool into his hand, he heard the soft click of a faucet being turned off. He glared at Okami as he stiffly leaned into Jesse’s space, but the man met his gaze easily.

“Jesse,” he said sternly, hand firmly resting on the faucet as he took control of the unraveling situation. “Breathe.”

At his command, Jesse let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding and he sagged, bracing himself against the counter with his elbow and his stump. A hand rested on his upper back, rubbing gently as he tried to calm himself down.

“Would you like to sit?” Okami asked, hands already positioning to help guide him down. “Let’s sit down on the floor.”

Seeing as how he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, Jesse obliged him. His pride was bruised, his emotions out of whack, and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do now. Might as well have someone else help sit his dumb ass to the floor too.

He hadn’t had anyone else around to experience the aftermath of one of his nightmares before and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said stiffly, keeping his head down. He could see Okami’s boots out of the corner of his eye. He was crouching next to him. Staying close while giving Jesse some distance. Bastard was being too nice, considering the mess they were dealing with now.

“I don’t understand why you should be sorry about that,” Okami replied simply. “It was a situation that seemed to benefit from my being awake.”

“Well, then, I’m sorry for bothering you with this.” McCree continued, gesturing vaguely around the room. “Thought we were done for the night and here I am causin’ a scene.”

“It wasn’t a bother at all,” was the quick reply, “perhaps it was a scene that better to be had sooner rather than later, at a less convenient time.”

Jesse grit his teeth. Fucker was making it hard to apologize. Why couldn’t he just shut up and let McCree whip out a quick acceptable apology that didn’t involve him groveling for forgiveness? All Jesse wanted to do was apologize and move on. How was he supposed to do that when Okami was being too easy at accepting his apologies and brushing the situation off like it wasn’t a problem?  It clearly was.

“Well, then,” McCree started, teeth grinding tight. Okami was really going to make him go all out on this apology, wasn’t he? “I’m sorry for-”

Hands slipped passed his curled up form, past the defense of long, gangly limbs, smacking against his cheeks, squeezing his face tight enough to pucker his lips, and yanking his head upwards. In a heartbeat, McCree found himself gazing up into beautiful, tired brown eyes. The man really did wear any look well, even one of a sleep-deprived. bed-headed, rumpled-clothes punk in a medical mask. He was always so gorgeous.  It was unfair.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Okami said slowly, his stare intensely serious and seriously intense despite how not-yet-awake he was. “Night terrors happen. They happen to everyone. I get them. You get them. Everyone does. You are only human. Do not feel as if you have to apologize for something you cannot control.”

McCree blinked twice, not only trying to figure out what to say, but how the hell he was supposed to say it when his lips were getting squished by an overzealous hold. “Rell, tha’s real nish of’ya, O,” McCree slurred, his lips too puckered for proper pronunciation, “But I’d'appreshiate ya’ lettin’ gow of m’fash too.”

Okami looked at him, then his hands and then back at him, brow pinched tight in confusion. There was a quiet murmur from Okami, one of confusion over McCree's sudden preference to not be held, but it was stopped before it was fully fleshed out. He said nothing beyond that either. Apparently, the ball was now in McCree’s court. The only thing he could do now was to pick it up and chuck it away like…

Like an unpinned grenade.

“So, uh, you get nightmares too?” McCree asked slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how far he was allowed to pry, but he wanted to get some of the direct heat off of himself. “Didn’t think someone like you could.”

“I am human too, am I not?” Okami replied. To be honest, McCree hadn’t been entirely a hundred percent certain he was. Seemed too good to just be human. Too perfect. Too skilled. Too handsome. “I have nightmares as well. Mostly about the past and my regrets, though occasionally other topics too.” he paused. “If you believe conversing about it would help, you’re more than welcome to talk about what you saw.”

As if he didn’t know already. “You really ain’t got a clue what it’s about.  Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's rainin', O.” McCree knew he was a sleeptalker. He found it hard to believe that Okami didn’t have a general idea of what had gone down. “It was all said in my sleep, weren’t it?”

“How dare you imply- I would never- I’m- I’m not an animal-” There was a short pause as Okami tried to translate McCree’s southern into English before he actually replied. He clearly gave up. “You… You were talkative, yes.” Okami said, trying his best to continue the conversation. “But everything you said was either gibberish or Spanish. They’re unfortunately the same to my ears. I know nothing other than you found the nightmare upsetting.”

McCree debated the offer of talking it out, weighing the pros and the cons. He finally decided to go with it. He was in this deep, after all. Might as well make himself a nice roomy hole to live in for the rest of his life.

“It was about family. My work family.” he hastened to clarify. “Everyone there either died or vanished and moved on to different lives. Maybe that’s why most of them didn’t show up...”

Okami silently listened, letting McCree rambling about his dream to his heart’s content. Jesse described the black mist, the conversations, the lack of limbs, and the absolute helplessness that he felt. He probably didn’t make sense, his piehole probably rambled out of control, but Okami never interrupted, never looked away in irritation or boredom, and didn’t give anything less than his utmost attention to all the stupid words rolling off of McCree’s tongue.

Once McCree had talked his mouth dry, he stopped. He had gone over everything in the dream, every last dreary detail. It felt good to talk it out, but it didn’t mean that he was left feeling much better in the end.

Okami was thinking pretty heavily about his blabbering, if his upper facial expressions were anything to go by. “Were you there when Gabriel died?” he finally asked.

“No. He was killed in an explosion after I left.” McCree answered. “Wasn’t there for Jack or Ana either. Jack died after I left, in an explosion, the same one that killed Gabe. They never found his body. Ana was shot in the eye while on the field with a different crew.”

Okami took in the information with a thoughtful hum, steepling his hands under his chin. “They were all important to you, yes?” he asked.

“Hell yeah, they were.” Jesse threaded his hand through his bangs, “I mean, we fought and argued sometimes, but all families do. I didn’t agree with everything that was going on, that’s why I left in the first place, but they were some of the only family I had.”

“Do you feel responsible for their deaths in some way?” he asked next, giving McCree pause.

...Did he?

“Maybe,” he said, his voice cracking. “Mighta’ turned out differently if I hadn’t split when the goin’ got tough. If had been there, then maybe... That’s somethin’ I’ll never be able to get completely out of m’head.” Okami gave another hum and the questioning process stopped.

“Don’t you got any more questions for me?” Jesse asked, unable to stand the silence any longer.

Okami raised a brow. “What else is there that you want me to ask?” he slowly inquired. “What else is there that you want to know?”

“Like what’s the meaning behind the dream?” McCree said, throwing his hand up in exasperation. “Maybe if I figure that out I can tell it to do somethin’ different instead of livin’ out a horror movie over and over.”

“Alright… Do you think that they’re appearing because you want to speak to them again because they want to speak to you…” Okami paused, “...or because you feel pressured to rejoin your old team to fill in their vacancies and take on their roles like you think they would have wanted?”

“I haven't put much thought into headin’ back, to be honest,” McCree replied. “But why would I want to speak with them? What do I have to say to them that I never did?”

“Perhaps you feel guilty about never saying what you thought was a proper farewell?” Okami said. “By conjuring them up, you’re giving yourself another chance at letting go? Perhaps they're giving you the advice you think you need. Or perhaps they're not opening up that conversational avenue you want because you don't feel as if you're worthy of saying goodbye?”

He sucked in a quick breath as the words left Okami’s lips. His blood ran cold.

That made sense. It really did.

“So, ah, O, how are you so good at this?” he asked. “You knew all the questions I needed to hear. Talked me through the maze like you had a birdseye view. You do dream deciphering a lot?”

“No, and I don’t consider myself an expert by any means. I’ve done some reading here and there, but nothing more.” Okami said. “You feel as if they were the questions that you needed to hear, but, to be blunt, I didn't ask you anything I haven't asked myself before.”

“Ah, okay,” McCree replied, mulling Okami’s reply over. He hesitantly continued. “If you don’t mind, I-... I do have one more question I’d like your opinion on.”

“I can only try. Go ahead.”

“...What about the arms, d'ya think?” he asked quietly. “Why both of them? I still don’t get that.”

“That is a good question. Why both of them?” Okami repeated, he paused to think. “Vulnerability? You’ve experienced the loss of one arm. Who’s to say you couldn’t lose both?” he guessed after a moment. “You said you felt helpless… it could be your mind hammerheading that point home by leaving you as helpless as it could?”

“Golly. Maybe.” he let out a dark chuckle. “Already know what a pain in the ass it is deal with one metal arm. Can you imagine the headache it would be to deal with two of ‘em?”

Okami said nothing in reply and McCree regretted the attempt at a joke. Ever since McCree had popped off his arm, he knew how uncomfortable Okami was with it. He hadn’t said anything yet, but McCree knew him well enough that he could see the preferred avoidance in his eyes. In an effort to stave off an awkward silence, McCree glanced up and noticed Okami rubbing at his knees, as if he was trying to soothe them, and saw the subject change he needed presented on a silver platter.

“You’ve been crouching this whole time,” McCree noted. “How are your knees holding up?”

“My thighs are beginning to burn,” Okami answered honestly. “I was not prepared to hold this position for this long, though I am capable of it.”

“Psh, I don’t doubt you 'bout that. My legs ache just looking at you.” McCree said. “So, ah, mind me asking why you haven’t actually sat down yet?”

“You were talking. It seemed improper to interrupt in any fashion and I didn’t want to insult you by doing so,” he said with a slight shrug. “Am I right to take this as a sign of permission?”

McCree laughed. “Yes, Lordy, please.” He said, patting the ground beside him. “Don’t need no permission, O, have a sit.”

He had expected Okami to sit down on the floor, but he hadn’t expected him to kneel so close to Jesse, fitting in too well between his splayed legs. Hands resting on his thighs, Okami looked back up towards Jesse expectantly, ready for him to carry on with his thoughts. Problem was that now McCree’s thoughts were nothing more beyond how much he wanted to close the gap between them. Finally, after a long second, McCree forced himself to think about something else other than how pretty Okami looked on his knees.

“You said your nightmares are about the past, right?” McCree said. “They about your family too?” There wasn’t much that McCree knew about Okami’s past other than that cult bit that had been shared. But to be so young in a cult? That meant that family had to be involved, one way or another. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if the nightmares Okami had were about his family situation.

“They are,” he replied with a soft nod, brushing fallen hair out of his eyes. “Sometimes. Mostly.”

McCree scratched at the back of his neck. “You, uh, wanna talk about it any like we did with me?” he asked. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was supposed to go, but he figured he might as well give it a nudge somewhere.

He saw the man’s eyes widen at the question, caught off-guard by it. What was most surprising was that he didn’t immediately dismiss it. With as guarded as Okami was, he hadn’t expected much of an answer. Either Okami was putting serious thought into what he wanted to say, or he was putting far too much effort into coming up with a sarcastic rebuttal. It was probably the rebuttal.

“They were… distant, I suppose is one word for it. Most of them.” he finally said, his hands gripping at the fabric of his pants. “Looking back, I don’t think I actually ever truly had a family. At one time I may have thought I did have a family, but hearing about what your family was like has changed my perception of what I once had. I had relations, nothing close.”

“I changed your mind about something?” McCree asked jokingly. "How?"

“How? They-... They didn’t raise me, they manipulated me, and, knowing nothing more, I assumed it was normal. How every child was raised.” Okami said, surprising Jesse with his bluntness. “I spent my time going from one lesson to another, exhausted and overwhelmed by the time I went to bed. And I was expected to have recovered enough by morning to do it again. I was a very tired child.”

He stopped talking, though McCree kept quiet save for an " _I'll bet._ " in agreement.. He could see those gears whirring in his head. Okami was lining up his next train of thought. He’d sit tight and let him pull it on out of the station.

“Not all activities were dreadful-” he swallowed. “Though most were, they grew to be. Physical education was a favorite for a while until it became terrible. Math always made sense to me; it was easy. But in an effort to retain all the information I had to develop my own… mental organizers. Sometimes this meant I found it easier to learn something a different way. Which meant that I would have to sit for the lesson, take notes, and then teach it to myself later, in a way I understood.”

“Why not just teach you the way you wanted?” McCree asked. “Hell, I had to go through like three or four different volunteer tutors a subject to get my way through schoolin’n ta' find one that made it stick. Why make it so difficult for you?”

“Because there was only one way to learn, to think, to live: their way. Anything less was a disappointment. I had to accept that. I shouldn’t have, not so easily. It was foolish.” he said. “My contact with my immediate family was limited. My father was the leader, hence the high expectations for me, and I saw him at least once a week for a progress check until he died. I remember he was acting oddly the week of his passing. I always wonder if he knew he was going to die.”

He paused, musing on that thought before he continued. “I can’t remember much about my mother, no matter how I try, but I suppose that’s because I only ever saw her in passing and on special occasions. What I do remember was nothing more than the kindest woman I've ever known, whose hugs were warm, kisses soft, words gentle; the kind of mother I needed to help get me through that hell intact.”

“You can’t remember any more about your own _mother_?” McCree asked, aghast.

“Not really, no. Every time I try, I can’t remember more than the same few scenes of her and I, played out as if I'm spectating the moment. I don't need much more than that. ” Okami looked down in thought, quiet and still. McCree was ready to sit tight and wait this thinking session out, but then Okami let out a guttural growl that had him jumping in his boots.

A harsh whisper of “ _wicked_ ” was what McCree swore he heard. That or the shower’s pipes were actually haunted. If that was the case, then McCree had no fixes to suggest. He was a somewhat handyman, not an exorcist.

“O?” he asked slowly, snapping the man back to reality. Okami’s eyes widened as he met McCree’s and he straightened up slightly, waiting for McCree to continue. “You just, ah, say something, buddy?”

“Did I what?” Okami asked him. “No. I said nothing just now. I was just debating if there was any more that needed to be said.”

“Oh. Well.” That sure wasn't comforting. “Please continue, if you, ah, want.”

“There's not much more, but, this is sad a memory... I told myself stories when I was younger, pretending she was the one reading them to me at night. I had always been told I had too vivid of an imagination. And sometimes the tales with another shared was when I had a surprise roommate for the night, scared out of his own bed by the noises of the forest around us.” he sighed quietly. “But that was only when we were young. It’s been many years since the last chapter was added to the story.”

“What kind of tales did you tell?” McCree asked. “Fairytales? Fables? The adventures of math?”

“No, none of those. It-” he was frowning under the mask, McCree could tell. “That is… a more personal memory. One I’d rather keep close. As of most of them.”

“Say no more. I understand.” McCree held up his hand for silence. Okami said he was done talking and that was fine with McCree, even though it had ended abruptly and rough. What had been shared was more than ever expected.

It did worry McCree that Okami seemed upset about sharing the information. He didn’t want him concerned about that sort of thing. They were close enough for it, and he wouldn’t judge him for his past. So McCree did the only thing he could think to offer comfort; he reached out.

“C’mere, O,” he said, trying to wave the man closer. He didn’t want to scare Okami with a sudden touch like he had back in the laundry room. Speaking up was so that he had both a word of warning and a choice in the matter.

The man shifted closer towards him, scooting within his reach, giving him permission.  He took it, reeling Okami in close, holding the man against him. Okami let himself be pulled, his legs loosely splayed between Jesse’s, though he was laying tensely against his chest. He had gone along with McCree’s wishes, but he clearly wasn’t at peace yet. McCree figured the best thing to do was to keep talking and give him some time to relax.

“Y’know, Ana used to read bedtime stories to her daughter whenever Fare was on base, either from books she was loaned or smuggled in,” McCree said, threading a hand through Okami’s hair, playing with the loose strands. “She caught me hangin’ outside the door listenin’ one time. Invited me in for the rest of the readin’s, with Fare’s blessin’.”

“Why not just read the story on your own time?” Okami asked, beginning to melt against Jesse. He liked this. Good.  Jesse liked it too..

“Well, my readin’ wasn’t exactly top-notch at that point. Gabe had loaned me some of his comic book collection so I could put words to pictures; man loved his comics like nobody’s business.” McCree replied, idly petting the back of Okami’s head. “My momma and gran’ma an' pa’ used to tell me stories when I was younger. One time I heard Ana readin’ to Fare, some story about a cat named Fuddles that gets to explorin’ the outside, and I just couldn’t help m’self. When I heard her readin’, it made me miss m’momma so bad… what was I supposed to do?  Leave?”

“Were you able to join them for many tales?” Okami asked, completely puddling against Jesse. Gosh, he was warm, probably partially because of his jacket.  It was like holding a life-size heatpack. This felt so damn good it was unfair.

“Quite a few, actually. Ana let me look at the pictures too so I could correlate things to each other,” he said. He slid down half an inch against the wall, to let them get more comfortable “Most of them were kid stories, but one of them stuck out, ‘cause it was the one that she couldn't finish.“

“Why couldn’t she finish but a simple story?” Okami asked, glancing up at Jesse. “I’m guessing that it wasn’t an inability, but rather a choice.”

“Yeah, see, Fare was always on an animal kick every time she visited the base. Dogs, snakes, horses, raptors, you name it, she probably had a thing for it at some point or another. Her longest kick was on the winged side of the animal kingdom, and I still don’t think she’s off it yet, to be honest.” Jesse said with a soft chuckle. “At the time, Ana was reading a story about bats, a pretty damned educational one for a storybook, called Little Lost Bat, about a baby bat and his or her momma. Sounds cute, right?”

“Adorable...” Okami said hesitantly, clearly wary of the question’s implications. “So what was the problem?”

“You gotta realize that Ana worked in a dangerous line of work. Fare knew that. She was always scared of losing her momma.” McCree said. “And in the story, on the page where Ana stopped and shoved the book at me to take, Momma bat got caught by an owl, hooked by the talons. And she don't come back.”

He felt a jerk of movement as Okami looked up at him, making his hand pause. “They... killed the mother in a child's bedtime story?”

"Yup.  Can you believe it?" McCree said, his hand moving down towards Okami’s neck. “That was one of Fare’s fears; losing her mother. Bet you can guess that the story was never finished or brought up again.”

“And yet you know how it ends.” Okami pointed out with a groan, clearly enjoying the impromptu massage McCree had begun on his tense neck muscles.

“Ana didn’t want the book no more. Said I could keep it if I wanted. Read it on my own later to figure out what the problem was.” McCree replied, absent-mindedly hitting the right spots, judging by the happy hums he was hearing. “I assumed it was gonna be bat sex, considerin’ how it was supposed to be educational. Death I did not see comin’-”

“And yet you assumed the bats would be.” Okami cheekily cut in. McCree’s hand stopped and rested on the top of Okami’s head, angling the man’s face up towards him.

“You dirty boy.” McCree scolded with an affectionate pat, unable to stop the small grin from ticking on his lips before he continued. “I think I still had the book tucked away in m’room back on the base. Should still be there unless they dumped all m’shit after I left.” I kept it ‘cause it reminded me of the blessin’s in m’life; see, losin’ her momma was Fare’s fear, but gainin’ one, and a new family, was a miracle for me. Seein’ that book always kept me from takin’ my second chance for granted.”

“And you didn’t,” Okami told him. “You’ve told me many a tale about your time with your second family. You made the most of every second that you had with them. It sounds like it was bliss.”

"It wasn'-"

His first instinct was to argue, but McCree stopped. While it was true that the end of his time at Overwatch had been messy, he knew that he had no real right to complain about it right now. Even though life hadn’t been picture perfect, it was better than it could have been; Okami’s home life was proof of that.

“-It was bliss. It really was, wasn’t it?” he finished fondly, pulling Okami closer. “As blissful as this.”

With a sigh, Okami leaned against Jesse, letting the man wrap his arms around him tighter. His head rested solidly against McCree’s shoulder and his body molded against Jesse’s far too perfectly, his body sagging tiredly. This, too, was absolute bliss. And while McCree knew that he’d be happy to sit here all night, he also knew that they couldn’t.

“We should probably get to bed.” Jesse reluctantly said, getting Okami’s attention with a shoulder tap. “We got your job to go do tomorrow-”

With tiredness tinting his tone, Okami hastened to clarify. “Today.”

“Right, right, today. M’sorry.” McCree finished, squeezing the shoulder apologetically. “Might as well get what sleep we can so we can actually get shit done tomorrow.”

“Today,” Okami said once more with a sigh. Slowly, the man peeled himself back up off of McCree. Jesse slowly loosened his grip and let Okami sit upright. He gazed at Jesse’s face, leaving McCree to assume he was giving a quick once over to make sure that he was alright now.

Okami slowly got to his feet, and Jesse did the same, giving a soft groan as he pushed himself upright. “I’ll try not to wake you again, O,” he said, reaching around Okami to hold the door open for him like a proper gentleman. “Usually ain’t more than one nightmare at a time, save for those bad days. We should be clear the rest of the night.”

“I’d rather you wake me than bottle it all inside,” Okami replied, breezing past McCree and through the doorway. “But sleep should be our priority for the moment now, until you need me again, yes.”

Okami fixed the blankets, pulling them off of the floor and laying them back on the bed.  Then the two of them climbed back into bed. Okami was tucking himself under the blankets when he seemed to notice that McCree had yet to lay back down.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to sleep, Jesse?” Okami asked carefully.

“Probably, yeah,” McCree replied slowly. “Eventually, I should. Just need ta’ get m’mind off of things and relax.”

“Is there any way I could help you relax?” he inquired, sitting upright as he waited for a reply.

“Not unless you’re willing ta’ be the world's most chiseled teddy bear,” Jesse said, voicing the most pg option that sprung to mind. “Touching someone usually helps. But I know how you feel about that.”

Okami hesitated, his brow furrowing tightly. “I cannot ensure your safety if I awake in a panic at finding myself restrained,” he told Jesse.

“I was kidding,” Jesse reassured him, quickly tucking himself in under the blankets. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll hug a pillow. That’ll work soon enough, ‘m sure.”

Okami shot him a doubtful look, but reached up and turned off the lamp on his side of the bed before he laid back down. With a sigh, Jesse turned towards the wall, wrapping his arms around the cold, stiff pillow. He shut his eyes tight and tried to will himself into falling asleep. At the very least he could pretend to be asleep so that Okami himself would go ahead and get some rest.

His thinking was that if he pretended long enough, he would fall asleep. A good ten minutes of laying there, waiting, proved otherwise. There was a soft thump in the middle of the bed that made him twitch in surprise. His name being hoarsely whispered had him rolling over to see what the matter was.

“Jesse,” Okami said again. His words were clear. He was awake, and unfortunately not having a wet dream with a certain cowboy.

“What’s up?” Jesse asked as he slowly rolled over, his voice tired.

“Reach.” was the only reply he got, so it was what McCree did. He reached towards the middle of the bed, towards Okami, and his fingers soon grazed the other man’s.

“My hand is there, welcome for you to take if you feel it would be helpful,” he said.

Jesse’s fingers twitched at the offer, wanting to take him up on it, but he wasn’t sure if Okami was actually alright with this or if he was offering out of guilt. “O, I don’t need you to-”

“You are terrible at faking sleep and it’s keeping me awake,” Okami told him, sliding his hand over McCree’s, quieting the twitching. “I wouldn’t offer this if I minded.  I don't.”

McCree knew he’d be a fool to reject the offer. To turn this down would probably scare Okami off any future showings of affection. Besides, he could use a little handholding to help him get through the night. He was man enough to admit it.

His fingers eagerly intertwined with Okami’s and he gave a happy sigh as he ran his thumb along Okami’s knuckles. Okami gave his hand a light squeeze in reassurance, silently telling McCree that this was fine with him.

The contact helped McCree center himself over the next few minutes. The pace of the breathing next to him told him that Okami had since fallen asleep. His brain reminded him that he should soon do the same.

It was far easier to fall asleep this time, with matching Okami’s breathing and holding on tight to his hand. Soon, after just a few more minutes, Jesse found himself blissfully on the way to dreamland, a place he stayed for the rest of the night.

\----------------------------

When Hanzo awoke the next morning, he was dully aware of an odd warmth on his hip and his back. Cracking open his tired eyes, he turned and readied himself to scold a dragon. They enjoyed manifesting and curling up on a warm bed, but surely even they understood that this was not the time nor place for it.

He blinked twice. That was not a dragon. That was Jesse’s arm hooked over his hip, his hand still clutching Hanzo’s. His face was shoved against the upper middle of Hanzo’s back, his breath hot against his skin. While a surprise to wake up to and Hanzo hated surprises, he found that this was not unenjoyable. In fact, it helped keep him warm considering that the blankets had somehow become shoved towards the foot of Jesse’s side of the bed.

As he made a move to get out of bed, the arm around him tightened, and Jesse let out a tired, annoyed huff in his sleep. As precious as the man was in this state, Hanzo needed to get up. Carefully, he slipped out of McCree’s grip, slowly peeling the arm off, doing his best to not disturb the man. He slid his warmed pillow in his stead, shifting it close enough for Jesse to latch onto if he went searching.

The first thing Hanzo did was head over to his guitar case, stumbling as he hadn’t awoken enough to walk properly yet. Digging through the case, he pulled out a plastic travel mug, filled it with water from the bathroom sink, and popped it into the microwave. He heated up his water, making sure to stop the microwave before it beeped its completion. Once he placed a tea bag inside it, he returned to the bathroom to wash his face and empty his bladder, making good use of his time while the tea steeped in the hot liquid.

He finished in just a few minutes, returning to the mug and retrieving the tea bag before it could turn his drink bitter Heating up the scone was far faster, and soon he was sitting at the small table, tapping at the mask on his face as he glanced McCree’s way, debating whether or not it was safe to eat.

He decided it was; Jesse was dead to the world, evident by his soft snoring. Hanzo would have a few minutes to eat breakfast and settle the stomach thrown off by waking up in the middle of the night. As he slipped his mask off, he felt his dragons manifest, draping themselves over his shoulders, their claws clinging to his clothes.

“ _Hanzo, are you certain about this endeavor?_ ” Hidari asked him quietly.

“Of course,” he replied, casting her a quick glance while he took a sip of tea. “I have my reasons.”

“ _Are you sure?_ ” Migi asked nervously, butting her head against his throat. “ _Are you sure you’re sure?_ ”

Her question gave him pause, making him wonder what she was implying, but only for a moment. “Yes.” he finally told her. “Absolutely. It will be done.”

The conversation now over, he raised his scone up for a bite. The dragons moved farther down his arms, clearly ready to steal a nibble of his food the second they could. The little thieves.

“One bite each,” he told them, unable to fend off their pleading stares. “No more.” Hidari took the offer with grace, taking a generous, yet polite, bite. Migi, however, shoved her face into the scone, opening her jaws wide and snapping them shut on a massive snoutful of food. She had been given one bite and she had made the most of it.

After taking a bite for himself, Hanzo couldn’t blame her for stuffing her cheeks. The scone was delicious, light and fluffy with rich chocolate chips dotted throughout. Normally he preferred to sleep in, a difficult task considering how tense he was about the job, but with sips of hot tea helping to wash down the bites of deliciousness, this was such a wonderful way to start his day.

But as relaxing as his breakfast was, he felt the dragons twitching, their minds entertaining a thought that had them bouncing. Their eyes were locked on to the bed and their tails were unconsciously wagging with anticipation. He could ignore the tails smacking against his face no longer.

“You want a closer look at McCree, don’t you?” he finally asked. It wasn’t really a question. His head was buzzing with the dragon’s silent conversation about his sleeping partner. This was a desire they had mentioned back in Arizona, it was not a surprise that it had resurfaced so soon now that the opportunity once more presented itself.

The two of them jumped, momentarily forgetting that Hanzo could sometimes hear their thoughts when they were left unguarded. “ _Can you blame us?_ ” Hidari asked once she had recovered from her surprise.

“ _Of course we want to meet him._ ” Migi added. “H _e’s someone important to you and that means we need to know if he’s worthy of being important to us. We just want to meet him for ourselves._ ”

“ _Or at least see him properly while he slumbers. Before he awakens_.” Hidari said. “ _To ensure that he is as strong as you think he is and as we need him to be._ ”  
  
“ _So may we?_ ” they asked in sync.

Hanzo mulled their request over, weighing the pros and cons. “You may,” he said slowly, “But he musnt see you. If he sees you, that ruins everything, do you two understand? So while you may get closer, do not awaken him. If he begins to awaken, or stir, or anything, you two return to me immediately. Are we clear?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Migi said, while Hidari silently nodded her understanding. “ _So can we can we can we can we?_ ”

“Yes,” Hanzo confirmed. “Go ahead.”

They wasted no time once permission was granted. Disappearing from Hanzo’s side, they immediately pounced onto the bed, their steps growing more tentative the closer they crept to Jesse’s sleeping form. Hidari kept a small distance, surveying and judging him from the bed, finishing and returning to Hanzo far faster than her counterpart. Migi was braver, gently placing a paw on his shoulder, testing before she climbed up the wide, warm expanse of his chest.

Hanzo fought the urge to scold her, covering his mouth with a fist as he watched. She knew what she was doing. Migi crept closer to his face, standing on his chest as she looked him over. Her face was just inches from his, and she seemed to be committing it to memory. Once she was done looking him over and sneaking in a quick brush against the soft beard, her attention was now on the port for his metal arm. It was inevitable that she would focus on the arm; dragons did adore shiny things.

As she continued to look him over, McCree gave a tired groan, turning over on the bed. Migi’s head whipped from Jesse to Hanzo and back to Jesse as she jolted in shock, and then she was off, racing away and leaping off the foot of the bed. She disappeared, but Hanzo located her soon enough when he felt a panicked dragon slip down his shirt, hiding out of sight.

Hanzo choked on his drink, coughing into the back of his hand as he couldn’t help but guffaw at Migi’s reaction. He felt the bundle of dragon still as she listened and then jump once more once she heard the bed creaking with movement. Hanzo shielded the left half of his face from McCree, trying to muffle his laughter as he pulled his mask back up.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” McCree yawned, slowly sitting up. “What’s so funny, sweetheart?”

“I apologize… there was a thought of-..” Hanzo paused, unable to explain anything about his dragons to Jesse, and quickly giving up “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. You didn’t. You just made it so that I actually wanted to get out of bed, that’s all. What a pretty sound to wake up to.” McCree replied, slowly getting to his feet. Hanzo stood, remembering how difficult McCree found it to walk before he was completely awake. He loathe to discover how off-balance he was while half asleep, without his arm to counter-balance him.

Surprisingly, McCree’s balance was decent, with just the occasional wobble as he walked around the bed. He bumped into Hanzo, purposefully if that grin was anything to go by, and rested his head on Hanzo’s shoulder.

“I'm tiiired, O.” McCree groaned, nuzzling against Hanzo’s neck.

“I understand. We had a long night.” Hanzo told him sincerely, giving McCree’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “You can go back to sleep. I can handle this myself. I'll be back by tonight.”

“What? No!” McCree bolted upright, grasping on Hanzo’s shoulder as if he was scared he would run away. “No, no, no, no. ‘M awake, I'll come with you. I’ll be awake for sure by the time we get there. Let’s go.”

His concern was touching, but unnecessary. “Are you certain you want to join me?” Hanzo asked him.

“As certain as a thoroughbred in a race full of three-legged mules,” McCree replied. Hanzo assumed that was a yes. It sounded like one. It would be difficult for the asses to win in that situation. “When do you want to leave? Now? I can be ready in five, three if you don't mind me attaching my arm in the car.”

“No, not yet. I'm not even dressed yet.” Hanzo assured him, picking up his guitar case. “Eat breakfast, wake up, get dressed at your leisure. You have time, Jesse. I promise.”

Ducking into the bathroom, Hanzo set his case down and locked the door behind him. He flipped open his bag, pulling out his clothes, and began stripping out of his casual wear. While he wasn’t thrilled to be donning his armor once again, for it was tight and uncomfortable and took too much work to put on and remove, he felt it better to be safe than sorry.

He carefully applied his eyeliner, his war paint for the day, and then pulled his coat back on, just to cover up the chest plates. Walking around in his armor would attract unwanted attention. It would be best to cover it up while making his way back to Hanamura.

Once he pulled his boots back on, he stepped back out into the room, busy slipping the medical mask on over the black half-face shield from his shirt, to conceal it. A hum of understanding caught his attention. He looked up to see McCree watching him, absentmindedly putting the finishing touches of his arm.

“This must be a pretty big job if you’re getting all dolled up like that,” McCree said, nodding towards the armor peeking through the unzipped jacket. “How big is it exactly?”

McCree’s stiff tone spelled out the real question: _How many casualties are there going to be? How much blood is to be spilled?_ Thankfully, it was an easy question to answer.

“I’m hoping it’s a small one,” Hanzo told him. “We avoid the guards and I go speak to a man who needs to be reminded of consequences. As long as the interaction is favorable, and the plan works, no one will be hurt. The armor is just a precaution.”

“And a wise one at that,” McCree told him, scooping his hat off of the table. He plopped it back onto his head and sat on the foot of the bed, pulling on his boots. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

Hanzo blinked in surprise. “You’re ready already?” he asked. “You didn’t have to rush on my account, Jes-”

“I’m coming with you, O.” Jesse interrupted. “I ain’t getting left behind.”

Hanzo’s mouth clamped shut at the response, his words dying before they formed. Jesse’s nightmare last night had been all about getting left behind. It made sense that even the idea of it would have him rushing to make sure there was no reason for Hanzo to ditch him.

“I’d never leave you behind. Never.” Hanzo reassured him, looking him over once more. “Do you have everything you need?”

McCree went through the list, tapping each item to confirm its presence. “Hat, gun cleaned and packed, extra bullets, boots, pants, buckle, arm, muffin. That should be it.” He said. “Only other thing I’d like is a cup of coffee for the ride, but this hotel’s the kind of place that’s cruel enough to leave us a pack of instant next to the microwave, but no cup suitable to heat it up with. Monsters.”

“I have a cup you can use, the one from my pack,” Hanzo assured him, already uncorking one of his flasks to pour his tea into. “Just allow me a moment-” He poured the tea, going slowly so as to not spill a drop, and then handed the cup over. “It’s rather convenient, don’t you think? Just wash it out before you give it back.”

McCree made his way to the bathroom to fill up the mug, but soon after the water was flicked on, McCree spoke once more. “You don’t want the coffee for yourself, do you, O?” he asked. “Because if you do, I don’t mind lettin’ you-”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Hanzo told him. “Never have.”

The water shut off and Jesse poked his head out of the bathroom just to raise a brow of curiosity at Hanzo. “How the hell have you never had a cup of coffee before?” he asked, bewildered.

“Because if you can make coffee, you can make tea,” Hanzo explained. “Now make your coffee, Jesse. I’ll be prepping my weapons now so it won’t have to be done later. No need to rush.”

Jesse was fairly quick about making his cup of coffee. It was clearly a practiced set of motions. He finished just as Hanzo packed the weapons back up. With the rifle cleaned and loaded, the bowstring tested and waxed, and his single bladed knife deemed sharp enough, he was ready to go.

With one last confirmation, the two of them headed outside, with Hanzo checking for the key one last time before he locked the door and double checked that. Hanzo looped his guitar case over his shoulder, and then they made their way outdoors. McCree and Hanzo both stopped in front of the car. With its shot-out windows and bullet-scratched door, their ride was not a pretty sight.

“I had forgotten how much damage we took in the chase.” Hanzo mused while he unlocked the car. Not that there was much point to the gesture, there were windows that they could have easily climbed into, if needed. Only the windshields and driver’s side windows were fully intact, if but a bit cracked.

“S’alright.” McCree shrugged as he climbed inside, taking care to brush newly-fallen glass off of the passenger seat before he sat. “Always did like a nice breeze running through m’hair.”

They got into the car and Hanzo easily plugged the keys into the ignition. He carefully backed out of the parking lot. It wasn’t until they were on the road that McCree spoke. “How long a drive you say this was?” he asked, sinking into his seat.

“Two hours?” Hanzo answered, gesturing his hand vaguely. “It depends on the traffic, but about that long, give or take.”

“Right, okay. Two hours?” Hanzo could see the gears turning in McCree’s head as he processed the information and silently waited to see what had him thinking so hard. “Would you mind if I grabbed a nap on the drive? Last night still got me a bit wiped, but it shouldn’t take much to get me back up to speed.”

“Would I mind? No.” Hanzo told him, flicking on the turn signal. “I know where I’m going. I don’t need you to entertain me for the drive if that’s your concern.”

“I’d be more than happy to entertain you, if you’da wanted, any way you wanted; you’re too good ta’ me.” McCree grinned, pulling his hat down over his eyes. “Just do me one favor. Wake me up ‘bout ten minutes out. I want time to wake up proper from m’power nappin’ for we get in the thick of things.”

“Noted. It shall be done.” Hanzo assured him, eyes on the road he navigated towards the highway. “Close your eyes and rest.”

Hanzo waited a minute for a reply before he glanced Jesse’s way. Not getting one, a quick glance told him that McCree had already fallen asleep, with his body limp in the seat. Good. His sleep had been a bit fidgety last night. Some rest would be good for him.

While he had said that he didn’t need Jesse to entertain him, Hanzo knew that a drive in silence would be rather dull. He couldn’t turn on the radio because he didn’t want to bother McCree while he slept. Besides that, they’d be driving along mountains so the signals would be spotty at best. Instead, once he was stopped at a red light, he reached back into his back and retrieved a cheap mp3 and some headphones from his pack.

Some music would be nice for the drive and might even help it go faster. Perhaps it would even help him relax despite the thoughts of everything that could go wrong circling through his head. Perhaps it would even help tune out the dragons, who were making Hanzo’s head buzz with their private discussions.

He felt nervous energy pulsing off of them, but that was to be expected. They never enjoyed his trips to the clan headquarters, but they tolerated it for Genji’s sake. Now that they knew that Genji was alive, they had made it clear many times to Hanzo that they thought this trip was madness, though they hadn't said why, so it was an opinion that Hanzo didn’t agree with.

They needed to understand that it was necessary. The clan had aligned themselves with Talon, and in doing so, they had placed a target on their back. That was to be expected, other clans had standards and aligning oneself with a terrorist group could make enemies out of those you once considered allies and allies out of enemies. That was his family's decision and if they wanted to destroy the clan, that was their choice.

But it wasn’t his mother’s choice. She had married into this family and now she was being thrown into this mess alongside them. It was dangerous for a woman her age to be thrust into such a horrible situation against her will. She didn’t have the stoic disposition to play these war games. If there was any sort of escape route that Hanzo could offer her or a chance he could talk the clan out of the alliance, then this trip was worth it.

The drive was quiet aside from that the sound of overthinking, thankfully. No assassins, no car troubles, just a nice drive with the music that he enjoyed playing in his ears and a soft drizzle pattering against the windshield as they approached the city. It was peaceful enough that he nearly forgot about Jesse’s request, but he did remember to awaken him as he had requested.

“Jesse,” Hanzo called, reaching over and shaking McCree when the verbal method seemed inefficient. “Jesse, we’re close. Wake.”

Finally, thanks to the rocking, McCree began to rouse, slowly sitting up in his seat. He reached out and grabbed his coffee, taking a long sip as he tried to wake up. “What’cha listening to?” he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

With a shake of his head in lieu of a response, Hanzo removed his earbuds, pulling them out one at a time with his free hand. The dull thrum of his electronic tunes gave way to the quiet purr of an engine and the soft taps of rain droplets. He coiled the headphones loosely in his palm, keeping them out of Jesse’s reach.

“You can plug the player into the radio,” McCree assured him, motioning towards Hanzo’s hand and the stereo. “I meant it when I said I wouldn’t mind.”

Hanzo debated the offer. He had stopped listening to his music in the middle of a song, and that was something that bothered him more than it should. Besides, it was his music, he knew he would enjoy it. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem if he let the last minute of music play out for them both, would it?

_Selfish brat._

“No. It’s fine.” Hanzo replied with a shake of his head as he lightly tossed his mp3 player into the backseat. “Go ahead and find something that you want to listen to.” He couldn’t risk his mp3 being taken away, couldn’t risk his taste in music being found out and getting chastised over it, not again.

Casting a quick frown towards the back, McCree leaned forward in his seat and pushed the buttons on the radio, trying to find a station that wasn’t just static. Finally finding one, a generic j-pop station, Jesse leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

They sat in silence for three songs before Hanzo punched the radio off. If he heard another shrill repetitive line about their cotton candy lovey dovey love love lover boy he was going to get cavities. That was assuming he didn’t drive the car off of a cliff first just to get the song out of his head. Jesse’s mindless humming of the boppy tune didn’t help.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said. “Might I ask you a question?” This was both to interrupt the humming up and because Hanzo had a genuine inquiry. There had been a question on his mind since last night and he couldn’t stand worrying about it any longer.

“Sure, shoot,” Jesse replied immediately. “Long as I can ask you one too. Same deal as always.”

“Of course. Who-” Hanzo paused, his brow furrowing. “How many questions did you say you’re asking me?”

“I said I get to ask you one too, honey,” McCree repeated

“One two? Does that mean you’re asking me one, two, three, or twelve?” Hanzo asked. “I’ve heard one and two said together to mean all of the above. The American Midwest is a terrifying place where the English language and numerical systems are near non-existent.”

“One. Just one. I was just saying that I get to ask you one as well.” McCree rephrased himself with a quiet chuckle of agreement. “Assuming I give you an acceptable answer, that is.”

“Ah..” Hanzo relaxed, carefully guiding the car towards the exit ramp. They were getting close now. “Last night you were pondering how to write back to someone. It seemed to concern you heavily about how to reply. Ahm, so... Who exactly were you writing back to?”

“Winston. A colleague, but that ain’t too satisfying of an answer, now is it?” McCree replied, tapping his fingers on his thighs in thought. “The technical answer to that’s a bit more… ah, offbeat.”

“How so?” Hanzo asked reluctantly. What did he mean by offbeat? Was it a lover? An ex? A crush never explored? That would be awful. How did he compete with someone that already knew Jesse when he himself was still learning?

“Well…” McCree paused, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. “Ah… He’s… A monkey. I was debating how to write back to a monkey friend, former co-worker fella, of mine.”

“You-... You mean an actual simian kind of a monkey?” Hanzo asked, making sure that he was taking the correct exit before he spoke. The mountaintop roads were already difficult enough to deal with without distracting himself further. “Or is this more American slang I don’t know about?”

“Nah, an actual monkey,” McCree replied. “Though, technically, Winston’s a gorilla. Not a monkey. Don’t tell him I called him a monkey.”

“Why are you emailing a monkey?” Hanzo asked throwing a hand up in exasperation. All that worry and stress and it was over a stupid monkey? If he had known that he wouldn’t have had a moment of worry; who in their right minds would ever even think of someone romancing a monkey?

McCree shrugged. “Gorilla, O, and well, he emailed me first,” he said. “About my former job. He’s trying to get a group of us back together. Those of us left anyway.”

The momentary peace Hanzo felt of finding out that Winston was essentially a nobody to McCree was washed away the minute he heard about the job offer. They were trying to reboot the government job Jesse had?  With monkeys?  Would Hanzo lose to the monkeys? Would Jesse leave him for the job?

_Why would he stay?_

“Are you going to take him up on the offer?” Hanzo asked reluctantly as they entered the small city’s limits. _And leave me behind?_  Was the question that went unsaid.

“Been thinking about it. Probably more than I shoulda'.” McCree admitted. “I don’t really see a need for me to go back, you know? If I saw a reason, I would do it, but right now I think the cons outweigh the pros. The idea’s nice, but I don’t think that life’s for me. Not at the moment. Not yet. Maybe not ever.” he frowned, half-heartedly shrugging a shoulder. “I dunno. We’ll see. But not yet.”

The words offered some comfort to Hanzo. His relaxed, indifferent delivery implies that he had little to no interest in rejoining them, whoever they were, at least not right now. Hanzo would have him for a little while longer. He needed nothing more.

“Consider me selfish, but I'm glad that you're not leaving me for them,” Hanzo said quietly. “I'd miss you. Heavily. You'd leave quite the hole to fill. So I'm glad that you're still wanting to stay here-” Hanzo cut himself off, not ending his thought with the _with me_  he had been going to say. He didn't know that, not for sure. He didn't know if McCree was staying here for the company or just for the convenience.

“It’d take a lot to get me to leave,” McCree told him. “Ain't planning on heading anywhere, not without a good reason. I don't think much is gonna be more compelling than the gorgeous man beside me.”

Hanzo couldn't help but smile at his words. McCree was sweet, far too kind and generous with his emotions. Though truth be told, Hanzo could argue that he felt the same way about him.

He wouldn’t, though, not out loud. He did have an image to maintain. But the sentiment was both appreciated and reciprocated, and that was all that he needed.

“So I guess that means that I get to ask you a question now. And, don’t worry, it’s an easy one.” McCree said, waving towards the city out the window. “You’ve never told me what exactly we’re about to go do. So what is this lil’ visit we’re making about, O?”

“I was getting to that. You didn’t need to waste your question on it.” Hanzo said. “And it is best that it’s broached soon. We’re nearly there. So-”

He paused, debating how he wanted to phrase his answer. Thankfully McCree seemed to recognize when he needed a second to think, and waited quietly for the response.

“There is a clan that Talon has taken interest in that resides in this city. The clan used to be far more prosperous, but has fallen upon hard times as of late.’ Hanzo said carefully. “My sources say that Talon is offering them financial support to help bolster them to their former glory. In exchange, the clan has offered them both a boon of some kind, I'm not sure what yet, and use of their facilities, men, and smuggling routes. Though the clan has taken a hit in the wallet, their routes and methods are still top-notch-”

Of course, they were. He himself designed and tweaked a fair amount of them to perfection.

“-My goal is to infiltrate the grounds and make my way to their acting leader's office and… remind* him why this partnership is a poor idea.” Hanzo continued as he parked the car. “For them and the town they have a hold on and-... Making life difficult for Talon is a nice bonus as well. That is what I am doing here.”

“Oh, count me in, sugar. I like the sound of this plan.” McCree grinned wolfishly. “So what's the plan of attack for the infiltration?”

“There's a set patrol that the guards take, one they have for years. The clan is set on traditions, and this is one they've yet to change. It should be simple to be one step ahead of the next guard and keep this bloodless. There are no cameras to worry about; they’re not fans of what they call needless upgrades” Hanzo said. “I'm hoping it will be peaceful. But I am prepared for it not to be.”

“Right, always smart to be prepared for the worst.” McCree agreed as he walked around the car, gazing at the city around them. “So where exactly are we? Pretty place, wherever it is.”

“We’re in the city of Hanamura,” Hanzo replied, pulling his case from the backseat. “A small mountain city. It is rather nice.”

“Hanamura, huh? Cute name. Quaint as the city.” McCree said, pausing mid-stride. After a brief silence, he whipped around to look back towards Hanzo. “Wait. Hanamura, Japan? The home of the Shimada clan?” McCree asked, taking a step towards Hanzo. “ _That_ Hanamura?”

His reply caught Hanzo off-guard and he stared at the ground in thought. McCree knew of Hanamura? McCree knew of the _clan_? _His clan? **How?**_ “Yes, that-”

McCree had taken another step closer, placing himself right in Hanzo’s space. “So we’re going after the Shimada clan?” Jesse interrupted, guiding Hanzo’s gaze back towards him with a firm hand under his chin. “I got that right?”

His hard stare gave Hanzo pause. He had never seen those eyes so intense and a frown so deep sent his way. That look was reserved for others, outsiders, wasn’t it? Why was it aimed at him? What had he said wrong? “You do,” he said with a slight gulp.

McCree’s stern tight-lipped frown gave way for a toothy snarl of a smile. “I knew I was right to like you,” McCree said in a low, excited growl. “Been wanting to get back at these sons of bitches for years, but didn’t have a reason to go poke the hornets' nest ‘til now. I’m more than happy to waltz into there with you and fuck ‘em Shimadas up real good.”

This was not a development Hanzo had expected. He hadn’t planned on Jesse’s strong sense of justice to have already placed a death warrant on the clan, not yet. How could he have predicted that Jesse would loathe the clan so heavily already?  That hadn't been part of the plan. “You know of the Shimadas?” Hanzo asked carefully. “What have they done to you?”

“Not to me. Genji. Genji Shimada. Him and me were partners back at Blackwatch after we recovered him from this hellhole. We ran on the same squad.” McCree replied, double checking his gun with a wicked grin on his lips. “I know what they did to him. I know that his own brother left him to die, ‘cause the clan told him to. Men as feral as them need to be put down. Makes the world a better place if they are.”

Hanzo felt his blood run cold as the words left McCree’s lips. Out of all the men in the world, how had he run across the one that knew his brother? Why, out of everyone to adore, did it have to be Jesse, the one that knew of his bloodstained past and all his sins? Surely there weren’t many men part of this “Blackwatch” agency? How had he fallen for the one that-

Wait.

Blackwatch.

**Overwatch.**

“You were part of Overwatch,” Hanzo said slowly, biting back a growl. He knew of that Organization, knew that they had gotten in trouble many times over the years by sticking their nose into others’ business. His “ _relationship_ ” with Overwatch was no different. Genji had been seen fraternizing with some less-than-covert agents on the last few late night excursions he ever had, their talks of targeting the clan, turning on them, overheard by men more than happy to sell the information.

Overwatch was why his brother was given a death sentence in the first place. Hanzo had no fondness for the organization or any of its operators. Or at least he hadn’t planned to.

“Yup. Was at a time anyway.” McCree said, looking Hanzo over, his stare guarded. “Sounds like you weren’t exactly a fan of the establishment.”

“I’m indifferent mostly. Aware of the name, and aware of praises as well as the condemnations.” Hanzo said, being careful and diplomatic with his reply. “But I do know that, despite the good it did manage to do, the organization was more trouble than worth it in the end.”

The tenseness in the air was broken once McCree chuckled. That was unexpected. Especially with how dark the laugh had been.

“You don’t gotta be polite. You can say you hated that dumpster fire, I don’t care. It was made with good intentions, and good things came out of it, but everything about it kinda’ blew up in the end. Literally.” McCree replied with nothing more than a shrug and a tired shake of his head. “Overwatch was fallin’ apart from the inside out by the time it was over. No one trusted anyone in Blackwatch, save for me an’ Gabe an’ Genji with each other. The factions were split and it all fell apart and I sometimes wonder if any of it was worth it.”

Sighing, McCree cut his rambling off with a frown.

“I can see why the name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, O, especially for fella’s in our line of work, you don’t have to deny it.” he finished.

Letting out a quiet breath of relief, Hanzo rolled McCree’s words around in his head, making sure that he understood correctly. “I thought that you enjoyed your work,” Hanzo asked slowly. “You’ve defended it in the past. How can you lambast it now?”

“Defended it I have and I did and I will and I won’t,” McCree said, his palms facing skyward as he tiredly gestured. “Look, I can’t deny that Overwatch gave me new opportunities, and I’m thankful for it, but it took a lot from me too. I lost Gabe, Ana, Jack and… a lot of people. And by the end of it, the family that I had left? It was falling apart. I can’t forgive it for that. Overwatch did its good, but the bad came right along with it.”

Interesting. “I see. I know of Genji and his... Plight. He was infamous for his partying late into the night. His name was known for miles.” Hanzo said, walking them towards Shimada castle.  He might as well figure out exactly how much McCree knew of his brother and the clan. “But my question is how and why does an undercover government agency establish contact with a yakuza’s second-in-line? What were you after exactly?”

“Well, now that wasn’t exactly my area. I didn’t run on the Hanamura mission and I was later forbidden to make it my fort-y and learn anything about the Shitmadas per Gabe’s orders. Didn’t even meet Genji until I saw him pieced back together. All I can tell you is what I gleaned from the debriefs I managed to sneak a peek at.” McCree said. “Blackwatch sent an agent to establish contact, yes. She followed Genji to a nightclub and engaged him in some flirtin’, but Genji didn’t take the bait.”

“Surprising, given his womanizing nature,” Hanzo commented idly.

“I know. That’s what we had been countin’ on. He messed have sensed that somethin’ was off.” McCree continued. “His first thought was that we were holding him for a ransom, and he was sure to tell us that the old fogeys back at the clan sure weren’t gonna pay up to get him back. Said we’d be doing them a favor if we killed him.”

Genji’s words came as no surprise. The elders hated him as much as he hated them. “That’s the how,” Hanzo said. “What’s the why?”

“The original plan was to get information on the clan for a sting. The thought was that Genji would crack easily.”

“Did he?”

“We didn’t have to crack him. He was done with the clan. Fed up. Pissed-off even with what they had been doing,” McCree said. “He was willing to turn everyone over and fetch us the list of all the outposts and give us the main lair’s layout on one condition after he figured out who we were.”

“I’m surprised your agency didn’t already have a list of some kind considering how closely you seemed to be investigating the clan.” Hanzo mused.

“The Shimada clan was good at keeping a low profile at everything they had a finger in. Hell, we didn’t even know jack about Genji ‘til he gave us info for his profile. We could only assume it was true.  We wouldn'ta known if it wasn't.” McCree said. “And we didn’t know lickity shit about the brother. Sojiro was one hell of a papa bear; he kept his boys’ names and faces out of every database everywhere.  Genji refused to sell the brother over to us, despite what he did to him.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t, given the rumors that I’ve heard,” Hanzo said. It wasn’t a lie. He had heard many, many unflattering rumors about himself. He worried about how many were actually true and he was just too blind to see it.

“Me too. First, he said that revenge was his to have but then, when his tune changed, it turned into an ‘ _I have forgiven him, he is becoming a better person now, why can't you?_ ’ sort of thing where he knew what I wanted to do to him.” McCree shook his head. “If he’da just given me a name I woulda’ dealt with him long ago. Him and his whole family deserved it, given what I know.”

“No doubt. So what was the condition for his cooperation?” Hanzo asked curiously. “Immunity?” He’d be disappointed if Genji asked for less than that.

“Mmhmm. Immunity and the start-up to a new, somewhat pampered life, for both him and his brother.” McCree said. “He figured he could use our sting to pull him out of there. Apparently, he felt that the clan was screwing with his brother somehow, and blamed himself for ignoring it and avoiding responsibility until it was too late, whatever that means.”

“He-...” Hanzo swallowed thickly, swallowing down the sudden lurch of bile in his throat. “He… negotiated on the behalf of his brother, the heir of the clan he despised?”

“Yup. Coulda been a sweet story; the two of them breaking free from the yakuza life, all the family that coulda tracked them down locked behind bars. Coulda, woulda’, shoulda.” McCree said with a shake of his head. “But this story had a different endin’. Big bro’ must not have liked the idea of giving up his precious clan, not more than he liked the idea of his own brother’s existence, ‘cause next thing we knew our informant was dying in a puddle of blood, both his and the brother’s I’m assuming, ‘cause if it had been all his he would have been dead ten times over, the negotiation a no-go. The sting was put off while we helped Genji recover from his battle to the death. Never got picked back up, though I think Genji hit some of the outposts himself later. That, along with some other karma, was enough to start takin’ them down.”

His feet frozen in place, the chilly rain pouring down upon him, Hanzo found himself remembering that horrible event. He had been told that Genji was putting the clan at risk. That's why they needed him to act, to get his brother back in line. He had been told that Genji was conspiring to bring the clan down.

He hadn't been told that he was being given an escape, he hadn’t even known that could have been a possibility. Considering all that the clan knew about the sting, they must have known that Hanzo’s freedom was a stipulation. Instead of feeding him all of the information, they had only told the bare minimum, ordering him to do their dirty work with only half of the information.

They had taken advantage of him again.

And again.

And again.

And they had told him there was no other way. Genji had to die for the clan to live. That was what he had been told. He would have been nothing without the clan, that was what they had said.

They had never said that there had been an opportunity to be someone else.

Why didn’t Genji start with that? Why hadn’t he told Hanzo what was going on? Why had he tried to hide this deceit behind shaky, weak lies he thought Hanzo had wanted to hear? Why didn’t he tell Hanzo they could have gotten out together? They could have lived entirely different, happy lives?

Why hadn’t he said something?

Deep down, Hanzo knew why he hadn’t.

The clan had been everything to him, it was all he had known. He had been raised to lead the clan, groomed his whole life to be their figurehead, from a young age, he had always known that the clan was to be his. Little did he realize that actually meant that he was to be theirs.

That’s why Genji hadn’t told him. If he had point-blank revealed that he was attempting to demolish what Hanzo had spent his whole life building then he would have-

Would have-

Nothing would have changed.

The man Hanzo had been would not have tolerated the defection. Brother be damned, traitors were killed. That was the way of life he had been taught. That was the only way he knew. It was all that he would have done.

No matter what Genji had said, Hanzo had been too deeply entrenched in the clan’s will to have taken any other path.

They wanted Hanzo to listen, then Hanzo would listen.

They wanted Hanzo to obey, Hanzo would obey.  
  
They wanted Genji killed, then Genji was to be killed.

He had been raised to learn but he hadn't been raised to think. He had been raised to know anger, but he hadn't been taught to feel.

And in some demented, twisted way, he missed it. Some days, he missed the simplicity of blindly following orders, forming whatever opinions he was told to. Life was confusing now that he had to live it for himself. There were some days that he missed everything being laid out for him to do.

But then his dragons would hiss in his ear, scolding him for such thoughts, reminding him that he was in a much better place now and that they would help him take care of himself.

But was the freedom worth all the trouble?

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he was turned. Jesse stepped in front of him, his eyes searching over Hanzo’s form. “You still with me, O?” Jesse asked, his question half joking and half serious. “I know that was a hell of a horror story spring on you like that.”

Hanzo looked Jesse over quietly as he realized the answer he needed was standing right in front of him.

Yes. His freedom was worth it.

“I’m fine. Merely mentally rehearsing the route we’ll need to take. I apologize for my lapse in focus. It will not happen again.” Hanzo replied, walking alongside Jesse once more. “The gates to their grounds are close. Follow me.”

Hanzo led Jesse through the streets. The closer they got to the Shimada clan castle, the louder his dragons murmured their displeasure at this plan. She didn’t wish to be back here, not for something they felt was this meaningless, but Hanzo had to try. The clan was damning themselves with this alliance. For the sake of his mother, a poor woman who had been forced to live in the shadows, forbidden from seeing one of her children, he had to.

The pleasurable scent of the Rikimaru Ramen shop wafted through the air as they drew closer to the grounds, and Hanzo noticed that McCree paused to breathe in the deliciousness. Even Hanzo had to admit that his mouth was watering at the memory of their absolutely delicious food. It was one of the few restaurants he had been allowed to venture to unguarded, most likely due to the close proximity to the grounds.

“Don’t suppose we have a second to grab a bite to eat?” McCree asked with a teasing grin.

”No, I’m afraid not. I have the timing perfectly planned out already and I didn’t factor in time for a food stop.” Hanzo replied sadly.

“Next time, please do,” McCree said with a grin. “Can’t just walk me past a joint that smells so good like this. That’s just torture.”

“Next time, I will,” Hanzo replied sincerely. “And I’ll buy you dinner once we’re back at the room.”

McCree laughed. “I’m just teasin’, O, you don’t have to buy me nothing.”

Hanzo paused mid-step, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he rolled around McCree’s words in his head. Thankfully, Jesse seemed to realize his confusion and quickly translated.

“You don’t have to buy me anything. Even if it smells so damn good. ” Jesse said, this time using proper English. “You know what they’re making in there? Thinking I might look for it when we get back.”

“They’re known for their ramen. Their Tonkatsu is divine. Their steamed buns are a delight.” Hanzo took another deep inhale, trying to separate the beautiful amalgamation of the scents into their separate dishes. “They serve soups as well, a few. Given the chill in the air, it could be a Nabemono… or…” he frowned. “...Zosui.”

The pause had McCree raising a brow. “And those are?”

“A one-dish hot pot, broth-based typically, with the recipe based with what’s on hand,” Hanzo explained. “And Zosui is…” Horrible. “...a rice soup. With vegetables. It’s not served often, it’s usually only a winter dish, sometimes for a rainy day, though it is also served when one is not feeling well. Some see it as a comfort food.”

“Aw, those sound good.” McCree teased. “You sure we can’t make a stop for a bowl of Zosui? C’mon, O, don’t a bowl of Zosui sound good?”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t eat Zosui. Not anymore. I can’t.” Hanzo replied tersely, turning his focus to the gate.

“Can’t? You can’t eat it anymore?” McCree asked, his voice brimming with curiosity. “Were you sick a lot as a kid or something an’ just can’t the taste no more or you just never been a fan or what?”

“The patrol should be passing by briefly. That will be our opening to slip in.” Hanzo replied, stepping up to the side of the gate.

“Don’t you subject change me, O, I-” McCree paused, finally tearing his gaze away from the shop and eyeing the gate. “That is one massive ass gate. Now, I know you didn’t mean a picket fence when you called it a gate, but this is just- Damn... So do they usually leave this thing wide open like this or did you send them a calling card?”

“Not even I would ever give away the element of surprise for such dull theatrics,” Hanzo said, fingers rubbing uncomfortably against his right shoulder as he eyed the clan's symbol on the gate. “No, the gate is always open in the mornings. It inspires a feeling of openness with the village, though it is but a known false one that everyone merely entertains. It only shuts at night. You’d really think they’d just close the gate, just to keep intruders out.” Intruders like them.

Hanzo kept a careful eye at the clock, making sure that his timing was correct. Getting inside is the easy part. What comes after is much more difficult. “Be ready. We enter in ten,” he said stiffly.

McCree glanced at him. “Ten what?”

“Nine.”

McCree caught on to the countdown and readied himself. The second that Hanzo began moving, McCree was right by his side. While Hanzo was tempted to remind McCree that he was welcome to go and wait inside the ramen shop while he took care of business, he didn’t. He’d rather have Jesse with him, as the backup he was worried he’d need, than away from the action, where he’d be in no danger. He was selfish like that.

Once he was past the gate, Hanzo immediately headed left, towards the cliffside, briefly admiring the beautiful cherry blossom trees scattered about the always regal estate. He didn’t want to have a cart his caseful of gear around. There was a safe drop-off point just past the stairs. There he’d have a moment to go through his equipment one last time before he truly through himself in the thick of things.

Once he crossed the cliffside walkway, he unhooked his case from his shoulders, kneeling as he laid it down and opened it. Silently, he hooked his bow and quiver over his shoulder, retrieved the rifle and reloaded the ammo, giving the gun one last once-over before he was satisfied.

As he turned towards McCree, a soft sound hit his ears, and he cut himself off to listen. A quiet tap, rhythmic and repetitive, was just to the north of them, towards the rest of the estate. It was getting louder, coming towards them?

Tap, tap, one, two, left, right, walking. A patrol?  Why would there be a second patrol passing through?

Unless it wasn’t. What if he had been wrong about the timing? How could he have possibly been wrong?  He was never wrong. No matter; he’d think about it later. Now, though, they needed to hide.

“Get in the bush and stay low.” Hanzo hissed, his voice low but urgent. He quickly replaced the gun, shut the bag and slid it into the shrubbery while McCree obliged his order and crouched low in the midst of the cocoon of leaves.

The bush was large enough to hide one man easily. Two, though, might be compromised. After ensuring that McCree was out of sight, Hanzo took to the only other hiding spot in the area he knew of, one he hadn’t been planning on using, and one he’d rather not.

He carefully climbed over the fence, the only thing separating him from the cliff, and slipped behind a boulder perched on the edge of the property. There wasn’t enough room to crouch, and he was too tall to stand, so he took a page from his childhood games and grabbed onto the bottom rung of the fence. His body hung over the sheer drop, nothing but a thin piece of old wood to keep him from plummeting.

His heart was pounding in his ears as he suspended himself, blocking out the sound of the guard patrolling. He should be fine here. No one knew of this spot besides him. This had always been one of his favorite spots when he and Genji used to play together. Genji had never found this spot. When Hanzo had let him win, it was always after he climbed up and moved to another, to give Genji a chance to find him.  
  
But then came a time when Hanzo was no longer allowed to lose. To lose, was to show weakness. Then came a time when Hanzo no longer cared if Genji found him. Then came a time for their playtime to end.

The wood creaked under his fingers, the grain smoothed over the years, turning the solid beam slimy and slick under the drizzle. His nails dug into the soft wood, fighting to keep his grip. Had the guard passed yet? He wasn’t sure. Couldn’t hear right.

Calm down, damn it.

At the very least, if he did fall, there was a chance he wouldn’t die. It was a long fall, but he had taken long falls before. He had even tumbled over one of these cliffs, that time he had fled from the castle, and survived it, despite how weak he had been. It had injured him further, yes, but he hadn’t died. Wasn’t that _reassuring_

No, not really.

But if he did fall, there was a chance that the only thing bruised would be his pride. And his back. And his arms. And his thighs. And everything else that was left of him. And it would be like reliving an absolute nightmare. And-

Fuck reassurances, they weren't working.  He didn’t want to fall.

A careful peek over the ledge showed that the guard was ascending the stairs far on the left. Just a little while longer. He’d peer into the building, ensure it was clear, and then pass by the bell. He’d check that ledge-side of the shrine and then continue towards the main building, returning to his quarters once his passthrough was clear. That was how it had always been.

Hanging there, his thoughts only of keeping his breathing quiet, his grip sturdy, and his calm kept, his dragons musings began leaking into his subconscious.

“ _I don’t want to be back here_ ,” Migi whined. “ _I’m scared. I don’t like this place and I don’t like these people._ ”

“ _Quiet. Focus._ ” Hidari murmured. “ _He’s running a fool’s errand but it’s up to us to keep him safe. Like we always have. As best we can from the things we can._ ”

“ _Why is he even here? For **Her**?”_

 _“As far as I can tell, yes. No matter how he glosses it, yes.”_ Hidari said tiredly.

“ _We have to tell him, Hidari,_ ” Migi said with a whimper. “ _If he’s here for her, then it’s all our fault_.”

“ _No. Not our fault._ ” Hidari replied. “ _All we did was let him have whatever he needed, however, he chose. To have denied him that would have destroyed any hope or will he had left. It was for the best.”_

“ _...And to deny him now?_ ” Migi asked quietly.

There was silence for a brief moment, and then Hidari finally responded. “ _Every story has an ending, and a story must end before a new one can begin. To deny him that ending, and that closure, means there will be a delay before the new tale of his own making can begin. If he is to move forward, he must first overcome, on his own, in a way he will accept, and then begin anew with a new perspective instead of being stuck in the past.”_

There was silence. Then Migi finally spoke. “ _Will it hurt him?_ ” she asked.

“ _We will protect him. As we always have._ ” Hidari assured her. “ _As best we can from the things we can._ ”

“ _But, Hidari, will it **hurt** him?_ ” Migi asked. “ _We can’t protect him from **that**._ ”

_“...”_

There was no reply.

 _“Oh._ ” Migi sighed sadly. “ _...Will it…. Will it hurt him as much as they hurt me?_ ”

Silence. And then, a final answer. “ _...That’s for him to decide._ ”

The conversation played out with Hanzo only able to half focus on it, his attention more fixated on his grip. He had caught the tone, though. They were worried.

He would make sure there was nothing for them to worry about. He knew what he was doing, he could handle this.

At least, as soon as he had his feet back on the earth he could handle this.

Certain that the coast was now clear, Hanzo began pulling himself up. There was a soft crack, and then the railing crumbled. He tried to grasp onto the stone ledge, but it was slick as ice under all of the drizzle. In a panic, fighting to keep himself from falling over a hundred feet, Hanzo reached up towards the boulder with a grunt. The smooth, wet stone wouldn’t offer much, but as long as he got a half-second grip, he could haul himself up the rest of the way.

The stone offered him nothing but a one-way trip down towards the forest.

Thankfully, Jesse had thick arms and a strong grip. He had lept from the bush the second he heard the wood splinter and threw himself on top of the boulder, reaching and grasping on to Hanzo. His hand met Hanzo's slickened one and he offered the sturdy support Hanzo needed, and extra assistance that he didn't, to climb back up.

“Easy now. I got you.” Jesse said quietly, his teeth gritted as Hanzo pulled himself up. “Careful. Don’t rush. This place is as slippery as hell.”

Jesse’s prosthetic hand dug into the boulder, cracking it and ruining it, allowing him the balance he needed to haul Hanzo upward. One booted foot on the ground, Hanzo pulled himself forward, cracking the rest of the fragile fencing around him as he brushed against it. It wasn’t until he was solidly on two feet that Jesse’s grip even dared loosen.

Hanzo took a second to breathe, ensuring that he was actually standing on solid ground and that this wasn’t just some sick fantasy he was having before he relaxed. In a daze, his hand brushed damp dirt off of his front, and while it was nice to clean his coat up, he found himself with a dirty, muddy hand in its stead, a fact he was regretting upon further reflection.

After a moment of wondering if it would be worth defeating his purpose of cleaning up to wipe the hand on his pants instead, he realized that Jesse was looking him over with concern, waiting for some kind of reply. “Thank you.” he quietly said to Jesse. “Your assistance was much appreciated.”

“You damn near gave me a heart attack.” Jesse lightly scolded, clamping a hand onto Hanzo’s shoulder. “ _‘Go sit at the bush kiddie table, Jesse’_ , you said, ‘ _I’ma go hurl m’self over a cliff ‘cause I’m too cool for gravity ta’ affect me’._ ”

Hurl himself over a cliff? What? His movements had been precise and calculated until the wood snapped. Besides, no one could defy gravity, not even him, not for long. “But I did not-”

“I know now that you didn’t, O, but you scared the crap out of me right then,” Jesse explained, gently squeezing his shoulder. “You left me there and- Jesus Christ, O, I-. You-” Jesse ran a hand through his bangs and sighed. “Are you alright? I forgot to ask, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A bit shaken, I suppose, but otherwise fine.” Hanzo said, glancing back towards the cliff. “The state of the fence is a shame, though. It was a rather nice one.”

“The fence?” Jesse seemed amused by the observation. That was yet another reason that Hanzo enjoyed Jesse’s company. He entertained even the most inane of observations, and, at times, included some of his own. Now was no exception. “Looks like it was pretty solid one at one point. Maple, if I was to make a guess. Ain’t the best choice for a fence, though, not for a long-term one.”

“Why?”

“S’got no resistance to rot. Looks nice on the outside, but it’s not as strong as it looks.” Jesse continued. “I would bet that this entire fence is rotted to hell and back. One strong punch would probably break the beams completely.” As if encouraged by his own rambling, Jesse did take a smack at a still-standing fence piece and, as he predicted, it shattered, plummeting to the ground below.

Hanzo was surprised that he found himself bothered by the prospect of the fence being knocked down before him. It wasn't even the fence itself he was upset about losing; it was the memories he associated with it. The good ones, at least.

“Don't do that.” He said quietly, coming up with a quick excuse. “A knocked down fence could alert the next patrol that we're here.” That and he didn't want to see his past crumble further.

“Yeah, you're right.” McCree agreed, trying and failing to straighten up what was left of the rotted wood. “Figure the patrol’s far enough away for us to move?”

“Mmm.” Hanzo hummed thoughtfully as he unzipped his jacket, revealing the armor underneath. He carefully removed the top mask and slipped the coat off and tucked it away with the rest of his hidden gear, swiping his rifle from the bush as well. He was thankful he went with his boots today. Instead of the metal leg guards; it would be easier to run on wet stone and wood if they needed a quick escape.

“Probably.” he finally answered, hooking the gun onto his back, over his quiver and bow. “His patrol started late, most likely, that’s why we ran into him. That’s a punishable offense. He must be moving quickly to make up for that lost time. It should be safe to move.”

“That's the best kind of patrol for us; a half-assed one,” McCree noted, kicking up a boot. He fiddled around with the spur and its buckle, popping it off, and adding it to their hidden pile of stuff. As he began working on the second one, Hanzo had to ask.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the spurs off. I’ll be walking much quieter without ‘em. Hell, maybe I could surprise you for once.” McCree said, finagling the second one off and storing it with its twin. “Alright, now lead the way, O.”

Both of them ready, Hanzo carefully began heading towards the inner quarters of the castle. It was an odd, quiet walk. Infiltrating the clan was far different in the daytime then it was at night. The daylight made it far easier for his memories to surface as he walked, moments of his childhood and adolescence forcefully playing in the theater of his mind, the sound of childish laughter echoing over the grounds.

It was odd. There was such a cognitive dissonance as they walked through the grounds. He could recall the exact layout of the training room, down to the flaws in the floorboards, just as easily as he could recall the late nights talking with Genji. The memories of his father were clear, his lectures just as memorable as his praises. The memories of his mother, however, were far fuzzier, though that was to be expected considering how little he actually saw her.

Memories both good and bad flooded his mind, and, if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, he’d have been terribly overwhelmed. He had walked this path a thousand times before, and he could navigate this prison with his eyes closed.

It was easy to make their way to the main building, and Hanzo knew they would be out of sight if they ducked inside the hut in front of it while they waited for the patrol, the one that should have been done by now, to finish.

“So what’s the plan now? We never talked it out this far.” McCree asked, pressing himself against the inner wall of the small building, mirroring Hanzo’s positioning. “What do you need me to do, O?”

Hanzo silently unhooked the rifle from over his shoulders and held it out to McCree. “Be my backup,” he explained. “I’ll boost you up through the window and we’ll go upstairs. Lay flat on the upper floor, stay quiet, and no one will know you’re there.”

Taking the gun. McCree looked it over, inspecting it to make sure that it was prepared to his standards. By the lack of fiddling, it seemed to be. “You wanted this bloodless, right?” he asked, hooking the gun over his shoulder.

“Yes. Don't fire a shot unless absolutely necessary.” Hanzo replied. “And by absolutely necessary, I mean not unless they send a plethora of guards my way or yours. I'll trust your judgment on whether or not to fire.”

“That I can do. I'm as good as not firing a shot as I am pulling the trigger. Though I can't promise I'll keep this as bloodless as you're wanting if I catch sight of that damn older brother. I can't promise I won't put a bullet between his eyes.” McCree said. “Just ‘cause Genji can find it in himself ta’ forgive that son of a bitch don't mean I got to.”

“I can't blame you for those feelings,” Hanzo said sincerely. “But do you even know what he looks like? You mentioned you don't even have a name for the man, how could you know his face?”

“I'll know the face of the devil when I see it,” McCree replied grimly. Hanzo's blood ran cold at his words, but he was certain he gave no visible indication he was bothered as Jesse continued. “And the minute I see his face, he ain’t got a prayer of getting away unscathed.”

“Of course, I understand. If you see the brother, do not hesitate.” Hanzo said. “I cannot abide by what he has done nor try to defend him, for he is an utter disgrace. Do as you see fit.”

Would Jesse actually kill him if he knew the man he was working alongside was the very man he despised? He did have a strong sense of justice, though it was just as strong as his loyalty. With those two traits competing, it was hard to know which would prevail. Hanzo would rather not think about it.

He stood by his words though. If Jesse looked at him and could only see the brother, and not the better man Hanzo was trying to be, then he was irredeemable. He would have failed at redemption yet again. There were only so many chances men like him got before they received the punishment they deserved. And what more fitting than to be put down by the only friend he had left?

Eager to move on, past this topic, Hanzo quietly crept towards the window, nimbly scaling the small boulder underneath. He hopped and then easily pulled himself up enough to peer through the window, his feet dangling. There was the guard finishing up his patrol towards the back of the main room. Hanzo knew from experience he’d be finishing up in the hallway, then heading upstairs, then back outside, and then back towards the guard quarters farther back on the grounds. There was no rush; there was just a timing to follow. A simple one.

McCree seemed dissatisfied that Hanzo had just left him behind without a word yet again. He followed suit, scrambling up the rock and hoisting himself up. The tips of his feet just rested on the very peak of the rock which just allowed his elbows to rest of the ledge. The two of them watched as the guard’s pace slowed to a crawl as he conversed with someone in the back room.

That guard’s sure taking his time. If he don't get a move on soon, we're in a pickle.” McCree murmured. “We're too exposed out here to risk his lollygagging.”

“If he doesn't begin moving soon then I fear this might not be as bloodless as I hoped.” Hanzo concurred, having no idea what a lollygagging was. It sounded disgusting and he sincerely hoped the guard wasn’t doing any gagging on any lollies. At least not in public.

“How d‘ya wanna play this?” McCree asked. “Got a plan? You could use that scattering arrow thing on him if he don’t move, maybe? That’d be quick an’ quiet.”

“No,” Hanzo said slowly. “I don't have many of those left and I'm not sure when I can get or make more. I'd rather conserve what few I have until I absolutely need them rather than waste them by being in a hurry.”

“Makes sense, but…” McCree paused, glancing Hanzo’s way. “What are you going to do when you run out of ‘em?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Hanzo admitted with a slight shrug. “What would you do in this situation?”

McCree pondered a moment. “Sneak up on him, flash him-”

Hanzo whipped his head to look McCree up and down. “You’d _what_?”

“-flashbang him.

That didn’t sound any more proper. “...You’d what?”

“I’d surprise him with a stun grenade, not by dropping my britches or-,” McCree explained, fighting back a dirty grin that pulled at the corner of his lips. “Then I'd fan the hammer.”

The first explanation was satisfactory now, but Hanzo was thrown off by the next part. What about a gun and a grenade had to do with fans and hammers? Why didn’t southerners speak English instead of weird southern musings? “...You’d what?” he asked yet again.

“Fan the hammer. Just barrel him solid.” McCree tried to clarify, but he must have noticed that the explanation didn't exactly work for Hanzo. “Empty the clip while I shoot him real fast, sometimes with all six bullets.” he tried again.

Ah. That made sense. Why didn't he just speak English in the first place?

“Then that's what I’ll do from now on,” Hanzo said with a resolute nod. “I'll shoot so fast they’ll be dead before they can react.”

“You’re gonna pincushion ‘em?” McCree seemed amused by the idea. “So you're just gonna rain a storm of arrows on them then? A’ight. I dig it.”

“A storm of arrows…” Hanzo repeated, trying the title out for himself. “What a powerful name; I like it. Doesn't quite roll off the tongue, but it's a good place to start.”

Whatever McCree had been about to say was cut off as Hanzo motioned for them to duck. The guard was moving to the upper level, and if he happened to glance their way he’d be able to spot their heads peering over the ledge.

“Be ready for me to boost you through the window,” Hanzo advised. “The timing will be tight.” They’d have to slip inside while the guard wandered outside. He might partially patrol the lower levels once more, and McCree needed to have a decent vantage to snipe should it be necessary, so it was for the best they went for the balcony as soon as they could.

Hanzo threaded his hands together and McCree, following his cue, slipped a boot onto the makeshift foothold, his hands ready to yank himself up the moment that he received the order to move.

Hanzo kept an eye on the upper level, catching sight of the guard as he emerged from the stairwell to the upper balcony. He counted to three under his breath repeatedly, measuring the distance covered every few seconds. A foot a second and a half, and his pace was consistent. That would give Hanzo the timing he needed to know when to boost McCree up despite the guard being out of sight.

He kept counting, picturing the man’s movement in his mind. As the guard made his way to the outside, Hanzo knew it was time for them to move. “Now.” he hissed, basically throwing McCree up through the window before the man could respond. Landing flat on his face, Jesse scrambled to his knees and reached back to give Hanzo a boost, but his hand slowly fell when he realized that Hanzo was already up there beside him.

“I forgot that you can teleport,” McCree admitted. “I remembered it now.”

“I don’t teleport.” Hanzo argued. “I’m just good. Very good. And fast.”

“That you are.” McCree agreed with a grin, looking around the large room. “Where to now?”

Hanzo double checked that their route was clear before he stood. “This way.” he silently led McCree to the top floor perch. McCree’s footsteps were oddly quiet without the jingling of his spurs punctuating his every movement. It was throwing Hanzo off, he knew that McCree was walking alongside him, but he couldn’t hear him. It was annoying. They’d need to finish up here just so that McCree could don his spurs once more and walk to that familiar tune that Hanzo found himself missing.

“Keep watch here,” Hanzo told him, motioning to their balcony perch. “It will give you a decent vantage point of the floor below, the doorway to the outside, and out the window, we came in. Stay low. And keep your wits about you. I will call if I need you. Do not interfere prior to that.”

McCree nodded and then crouched, quietly sliding into a prone position as he gave his perch a try. There was a quiet hum of approval, and his eyes scanned the room, pausing on the taller platform on the other side of the room. “Good golly, imagine the view from up there.” he turned towards Hanzo and grinned. “I’ll bet that you could climb up there.”

“I’d bet that I could too.” Hanzo simply replied. It was a bet he would win. He had climbed it before. Many times. He had fallen off many times as well. And been scolded for failing before they even thought to ask if he was okay.

Focus.

“My target’s in the back room. I best go start this negotiation now.” Hanzo said, making for the main floor’s stairs. “I’ll be back soon. Stay sharp, Jesse.”

“Good luck in there, O,” Jesse said, his voice low enough that, if Hanzo didn’t have such perfect hearing, he would have missed. “Be careful. Don’t make me have to back you up.”

Hanzo had been planning this breach, and how to sway the temporary clan leader, for months. He had always been expecting a fight or a hitch of some kind, so being careful had never really been involved in this part of the plan. But for Jesse’s sake, he would certainly try.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, eyeing the main room thoughtfully. His stare locked onto the bloody tapestry hanging at the back of the room. Memories, all unpleasant, flashed through his mind.

_Blood. So much blood._

“Brother… why?” Genji had asked weakly. “What have I done to you? Tell me. What have I done wrong?”

Hanzo hadn't responded to the question. He hadn't been expecting it. He hadn't been told how to respond to it and so he had said nothing. His only response had been him raising his sword and swiftly bringing it down over and over and **o v e r.**

It was only after the deed was done, and he was forced to his knees, that he heard his dragons speaking to him, trying to communicate through the fog that was his mind. Hidari’s voice had been low and scared, questioning what he had just done. Migi screamed in utter terror at the sight, a sound that still haunted his nightmares when he was forced to relive the fight.

The dragons knew that Genji had been their only true ally in this clan. To see their friend, their brother, dying in a massive pool of blood, was a sight they couldn't forgive Hanzo for. They abandoned him the only way they could, refusing to speak and siphoning far more energy than they needed in retaliation.

One greedy dragon could easily drain its host dry. The two of them had been punishing him, not trying to kill him, that being the second time they had ever chosen to spare his life of their fury. While they retreated to the back of his mind, refusing to acknowledge the world that Hanzo had destroyed, they hadn’t been aware of how much he was struggling to walk on his own two feet with their punishment and without their aid.

Eventually, their anger subsided and they returned to him, growing aghast at the hell that Hanzo had allowed himself to be caged in the midst of his sorrow. When they saw the room that Hanzo was now confined to, the struggle to even do the simplest tasks, and the scoldings when he failed, they grew angry once more. Not with him, though. For him. And they eventually provided the clarity he needed to flee the clan and the help he needed to succeed in the escape.

Were they angry with him now for coming back? There was but one reason he was here and it was only to ensure her safety. It would be brief. They had to understand that.

This needed to be done. They agreed with that.

Carefully, he made his way to the back of the building. As he crept through the meeting room, a deep voice carried through the thin paper walls, the phone conversation no longer private.

It took a moment of listening to the man talk on the phone to identify him, and Hanzo felt a frown creep across his mouth as he realized who it was. It was Kaiichi, a second or third cousin of theirs, quite the unpleasant fellow even when he was young, throwing temper tantrums and attempting to bully him and his brother whenever his family visited the main grounds just because he was a year or five older. A spoiled brat through and through.

Hanzo carefully slid the paper door open and stepped inside the room, quietly closing the door behind him and concealing his entrance. He listened to Kaiichi poorly negotiate, his attempt to intimidate the buyer turning away the potential of future partnerships. It was irritating how horribly this conversation was being handled. Apparently, despite his years, he hadn't grown out of being a brat. The clan must have burned through some of the more promising options far too quickly, now having to make do with the family scrap pile because of it.

With a huff of a sigh and a curse under his breath, Kaiichi hung up the call, mashing a thumb against the end call button until a beep confirmed that the call was ended. Hanzo waited until the beep before he tutted at the display. Kaiichi whipped around, the panic on his face subsiding when he saw it was Hanzo behind him. Apparently, the relief that he wasn’t an elder outweighed the fear of him.

“Isn’t it a bit early for your yearly invasion for gloating and bragging about your murders?” Kaiichi asked in smooth Japanese, tucking his phone back into his pocket. It seemed that he had never managed to grow into that nose of his. Genji had always said that he never would, he was “too set on sniffing out trouble and being nosy” for it to ever have a chance to. He had been right.

“It was a trip to honor the dead, never a gloating. Never a brag.” Hanzo growled in response. “How dare you even think it otherwise.”

“Really? With all the fanfare drummed up around that time of year, with the guards and clan determined to put a stop to you and your little Hanzo-breaking-and-entering show, it’s hard to remember that sometimes.” Kaiichi replied, swiping a hand through his overly-gelled hair. “So why are you here now? Find another brother to murder? Or did you come up with another way to let everyone down yet again?”

Hanzo took a deep breath and grit his teeth. Trying to keep this civil was going to be difficult. “I’m here-” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice even, “because I heard of your deal with Talon. And I’m here to talk you out of it.”

A quirk of amusement hitting his lips, Kaiichi shook his head. “The Shimada clan and Talon’s fates are now intertwined. Why try to change our inevitable destiny?”  
  
“You selfish man! Hasn’t mother been through enough?” Hanzo asked, taking a step forward. It didn’t escape him that Kaiichi’s hand shot into his pocket the moment that Hanzo moved. He was armed somehow. That was good to note. “The poor woman’s gone through so much over the years, and now you’re throwing away all the work my father did for some… some false, temporary alliance? Leave her some peace, do not throw her into the inevitable battlefield because you are too incompetent to manage this clan on your own.”

Kaiichi laughed. He actually laughed, throwing his head back briefly before the fit had him doubled over and giving what was more akin to a breathless whiny than a hearty chuckle. The anger Hanzo felt in his gut burned fiercer.

“Ha-Ha!- Hanzo? That’s why you made this trip? That's what this is about? ” he gasped for air, straightening up and pulling a pistol from his pocket. The amusement was wiped from his face in an instant, replaced by a look of stone. “You’re wasting your time.”

The sight of the gun gave Hanzo pause. “Wait,” he said. “You get to carry around a gun? I had to protect myself with a sword; the gun was only for special occasions. Why do you _just_ **_get_** a gun?”

“Well, we all weren’t raised to be the failures of the family,” Kaiichi said with a one-shouldered shrug, his aim never wavering. “Learning the way of the sword was a privilege for your whole family, a sign of status, and you wasted it, little mutonchaku. Just like I’m about to waste you-”

Hanzo moved quickly, closing the gap between them. His hand wrapped around Kaiichi’s, and he yanked his arm, pointing the gun at the wall beside them. He was fast with a bow, but he wouldn’t be able to fire off a shot before the gun. He had to handle this hand-to-hand.

“Don’t you dare tell me what to _do_ ,” he growled. “Don’t you **_dare_** tell me what to think. I know what I’m _doing-”_

“You don’t,” Kaiichi argued through gritted teeth, trying to fight against Hanzo and twist the gun back his way. “You really don’t.”

“You are threatening my mother with this pact. She is the only family I have left-” Hanzo growled, fighting against the sudden burst of strength Kaiichi had. The gun was twisted between them, with Kaiichi trying to kill him and Hanzo trying to wrest the pistol from his grip. “If not your idiocy, then the elders, and you are merely complicit in risking everything-”

Kaiichi laughed once more, cutting him off. In a fury, Hanzo continued. “-Everything for this stupid terrorist group. You’ve brought much pain and shame to this family. All you’ve done is set the final collapse in motion. There is no going back-”

Hanzo’s frantic rambling was cut short as the gun went off. The crack was deafening and both men stared at each other with wide eyes as the consequences of their scuffle finally sank in. Kaiichi mouth fell open with a loud moan and a thick stream of blood ran down his chin. Hanzo’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

Oh no. No no no. He had done it again. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. This was supposed to have been bloodless. No one was supposed to have died.

“What’s with that look? Are you that surprised?” Kaiichi asked. “You kill people. This is what you do. I’m just another tally mark in your book. ”

No. No no no, he wasn't a murderer. He wasn't.

“This wasn’t- I never meant to-”

“You’re an idiot. Or blind. Maybe both.” Kaiichi hissed in pain. “I’m not the one calling the shots. I’m nothing. No one. Just a puppet of a man who’s treated like a king as long as I let someone else pull the strings. I didn't agree with it, but I didn't exactly have a choice. There aren’t many left.”

Hanzo’s brow knit tightly in confusion. “Then the elders. They’re the ones who called for the alliance-”

“No. Most of the elders you knew are all senile or dead, passed from age or convenience's sake.” Kaiichi said, giving up on holding his profusely bleeding middle and instead grasping Hanzo’s shoulder for support. “They’ve been replaced by persons who are far more spineless and willing to please. Like I was.”

“If it’s not you-” Hanzo asked slowly, his mind whirring frantically to decipher this puzzle. “”-and it’s not the elders, then who? Who is leading this clan down this horrific path?”

A bloody hand grasped at his face, clawing at his cheeks and staining them in crimson. “Your... _precious_ …” Kaiichi gasped and moaned, his grip failing as he grew weaker. He groaned one last time and then fell to the floor, finally succumbing to the mortal wound.

Hanzo stood in shock, frozen to the spot as he looked at Kaiichi’s lifeless form. His mind was spinning, trying to understand everything that had just happened. None of this made sense, unless- no.

No no no. This- this didn’t make any sense. Kaiichi had lied to him. That was it. That had to be it.

“ _Kaiichi_?” a soft voice called out, her Japanese flowing like water as he walked down the hall “ _Did you drop your gun again? I’ve told you to stop attempting those American movie gun moves, you silly-_ ”

Hanzo could only quietly turn around and watch as his mother walked through the door. She was such a small woman, only reaching up to Hanzo’s shoulders. Her neatly tied hair had long since gone gray, and her face was painted delicately, her preference for modesty apparent in her dress of a long, red silk kimono. There was a cane clutched in one hand, the polished wood decorated with carvings of petunias crawling up the length and the ivory handle fitting easily into her small hand.

“-silly boy.” she finished slowly, her words trailing off as she looked around the room in horror. Her eyes locked with Hanzo’s, and a hand trailed up to clutch at the thin silk of her kimono over her chest. “Why- Why are you here?- What- What happened? Why is Kaiichi-?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, responding in kind in Japanese, running a hand through his hair. The body at his feet, actually running into his mother, the harsh indecipherable whispers of his dragons, it was all too much. “I was just trying to talk to him because I didn’t- he was- the clan was putting you at risk. You can live comfortably with what the clan has now, can’t you? There was no need for Talon to ever get involved. And he pulled the gun, he did.” he was rambling, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. “I just- I just wanted to make sure that you were going to be alright, mother. Don’t be angry.”

Her brow wrinkled and her dark eyes flitted about as she processed what Hanzo was saying. Her gaze locked once more with his and she carefully stepped forward, leaning heavily on the cane as she plodded forward, her footsteps surprisingly light despite the limp. She reached up slowly, though Hanzo still winced, and stroked at his cheek with her right hand. How odd. Wasn’t she left-handed?

“ _She is_ ,” Hidari confirmed tensely.

“ _I don’t like this_ ,” Migi added.

“My dear, sweet boy,” she hummed lightly, making Hanzo forget his concern, “did you make this visit just for me? Aren’t you precious? I’m so proud of you. My dear, _sweet **boy** -”_

Hanzo had found himself relaxing, hungry for this burst of motherly affection. Everything was so confusing and overwhelming, but his mother’s always gentle spirit calmed him like it always had…

His dragons hissed angrily at the thought, giving him pause.

...Hadn’t it?

He tried his best to lap up all of the affection and ignore the sound of metal being unsheathed, but his dragons screamed, catching his attention in the haze. His left hand shot out, grasping her thin wrist before Hanzo could process what was happening. He glanced down, trying to understand what his dragons had been warning him about, what they had been trying to stop. In his mother’s hand was a sword, her cane sheath lying at their feet.

She had been going to kill him. She had been deceiving him. That display of affection had been nothing but a ruse so that she could end his life here.

Why?

“Mother?” he asked, confused. His grip was firm on her, though he kept it light enough that there was no concern of snapping her thin wrist, even though his hand tensed and trembled. Once the sword dropped from her hand, and it was kicked away, he let her go. “I don’t understand. You hugged me at my birthdays, at least until I was six, you were always kept away from me by them, remember? …”

Did she remember that?

“You took care of me after the… after Genji… I remember that.”

Did he?

“You...You loved me, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice but a whisper. “And they kept you away all those years? I... I’m your son-”

Her eyes flashed with such a sudden flaming fury that Hanzo was taken aback. “You were _never_ my son.” she spat, voice venomous with hate. “You were never going to be my son.”

His head grew dizzy with confusion at the implication, a splitting headache forming between his eyes. His brain felt as it wanted to implode. “I don’t understand, mother,” he said, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, careful to avoid the piercing.

“Stop calling me mother, you absolute waste of space. I was never your mother.” she hissed. “We had a deal, the clan and I. I would marry into this horrible, horrible family and give birth to two children. One boy to be trained as the clan leader, and the other child to raise as my own.”

As the words left her lips, Hanzo flashed back to Hachidori’s taunting. “ _Your mother misses her **son** , Hanzo…_” she had said, “ _She might even be missing **you** too._ ”

He had grown angry at the words, thinking she was talking about Genji’s death But no. She had been talking about him and how he was never intended to be anything more than a puppet. Not a son. Not a child. Nothing but an heir to be trained.

“So that’s what Hachidori meant.” he murmured idly, “How did she know?”

This didn’t make any sense. Why did he have so many positive memories of Kyoko, his mother? Why had he always been fighting to make her proud when she despised him? Why had he been so determined to make this visit and ensure she was alright if she loathed him? Why couldn’t he see her as anything other than his everything?

“ _I’m so sorry, Hanzo._ ” he heard Migi say softly. “ _I’m so so sorry._ ”

Sorry? Why would she be sorry? “What do you mean?” he inadvertently asked out loud, thrown off by his world crumbling around him. “Why?”

His mother, prompted by his question, continued with her rant. “You were the price I paid so that I could have a family and a future, and I happily paid it. I was supposed to have a son of my own, Genji was supposed to be mine.” she cried, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Her tirade was cut short by a loud sob, and she turned away, hand over mouth to compose herself, distraught at the memory of her son.

Now that there was silence, Hidari picked up where Migi left off. “ _I’m sorry, Hanzo,_ ” she said. “ _But it had to be done._ ”

What had to be done? What was his dragon talking about? He didn’t understand.

And then, he understood all too soon.

An intense pain bloomed behind his eyes as his dragons let the curtain of his creation fall unceremoniously to the ground. The memories that he had clutched onto for years fell apart, shattering like glass as they gave way to the reality behind them. His dragons stopped covering up his denial, stopped his fantasy in its tracks, allowing the suppressed memories to surface and the truth to finally come to light.

He had imagined his mother’s affection, he had imagined her cheering him on. The spaces she had filled in his memories vanished. He was left with nothing. None of it, none of the compliments, none of the night time comforting, none of the story times, none of it had been real. It had all been imagined in his hunger for affection and clung to in his desperation for someone to believe in.

The mother he had come to protect, the mother he loved, was not the mother standing before him. The woman that had adored him and tenderly kissed his bruises away when he was younger had never existed. She was merely a figment of his imagination, one that he had happily created and accepted as truth in the face of the dark, lonely, tortuous reality.

He was but a fool running a fool’s errand. The entire point behind this trip was crumbling right before his eyes. He could do nothing as his world slowly began to fall to pieces.

“My life was forfeit to you the moment I was born,” Hanzo said slowly, the grim reality finally dawning on him. “I was born to be **_nothing_** but a pawn on the clan’s chessboard.”

“You were born to be the clan’s son. Genji was supposed to have been mine. I was promised a family,” she said, motioning dismissively towards him. “But then you were so… so odd the elders didn't feel comfortable entrusting the future to you, but I managed to convince them to just give you time. You'd grow out of it, you'd be someone ideal; you’d be good enough, I said. Why couldn’t you have been good enough? That was all we need. Just one simple thing. Why did you grow up so flawed?”

Her hands twisted around the empty sheath, wringing together nervously as she continued.

“You didn't get better. You stayed odd and quiet, content to live in your own stupid world in your own stupid selfish head, bouncing between emotionless as a rock or utterly rocked with emotion, you incompetent excuse for a man. At least you were obedient, at least you did whatever you were told, unquestioningly even in your later years. That pleased them. And you were smart. Trainable. They thought that they could work with that.” She ranted with an exasperated shake of her head. “The bonding was supposed to fix you. Make you proper. It didn’t. You stayed weak, feeble-minded, and incomprehensible, despite the power we gave you.”

“Weak-? Gave? I-” Hanzo’s curled into a frightened snarl. “I almost died. The bonding nearly killed me. You and father-” He paused, recalling the scene with terrifying clarity now that his stained glass life had shattered.

_“How are you feeling?” Sojiro had asked, crouching down to Hanzo’s level. The bonding ceremony had gone off without a hitch, despite Hanzo’s young age of eight. The boy, wiped out by the event, was currently resting on the floor, smiling proudly up at his father. The ceremony’s usually only took place closer to the age of eighteen, but Hanzo had been told he was special. He was told that a lot, usually with a frown. “Is the bond secure?” his father asked, returning Hanzo’s grin with a tired, strained one of his own. “Does it feel strong?”_

_“Mmmhmm.” Hanzo had replied with a happy nod. He felt amazing. So much energy was coursing through his body and his new dragon was speaking to him. Her voice was soft and her tone light, as she was somewhat bemused by her new master’s tender age, small size, and gentle spirit._

_His mother stood off to the side, on the far side of the room, along with the elders, watching eagerly. “Can he summon the dragon?” she asked tensely, her eyes flicking between Hanzo and her husband. “Can he, Sojiro?”_

_“Kyoko, my love, give Hanzo time.” Sojiro lovingly scolded. “He’s been bound all of two minutes. Allow him a few days to get accustomed. These things take time.”_

_Hanzo listened silently to his parents, his head still abuzz with dizzying power. “Can I summon you?” Hanzo shyly asked his new dragon, their thoughts now linked._

_“Hmm,” she hummed back in reply, “I don’t know, young master, can you?” Her teasing was evident through her tone and Hanzo fought back a laugh. His dragon was quite more easy-going than the controlling beast he had been told she would be._

_“May I?” he tried again. “I don’t see mother often. I want to impress her and the elders. Maybe she’ll stay for a while longer if I do.”_

_“I cannot say no to a request so honest and eager.” she laughed, her giggle as melodic as sleigh bells, “I cannot promise success, that is up to you, but we will try together. Focus on me, young master, I will guide you.”_

_Tuning out the rest of the world, Hanzo shut his eyes and let his dragon's kind voice lead him through his first manifestation. There was a burn, and the burn he could stand, but the tingling that shook his nerves was bothersome and he hissed in displeasure._

_“Focus, young master, I will not hurt you,” she said. “My purpose is to give you strength. I will protect you.”_

_He could just make out his father’s voice through the haze. “Hanzo, you don’t have to-”_

_“Don’t stop him, Sojiro.” Kyoko had cut him off. “Continue, keep going. Good boy. Summon her.”_

_“What if he hurts himself?” Sojiro asked her._

_She huffed. “Does that matter considering what’s to come next?”_

_“You want to- now?” Sojiro had asked. “No, it’s far too-”_

_One of the elders piped up. “Summoning his dragon is the only necessary step he needs to take. He will her grounding in our realm and tie her physically here. It’s the perfect moment.” he had said. “Best do it now before the bond strengthens further and the pain cuts deeper.”_

_Sojiro had sighed, tiredly looking Hanzo’s way. Hanzo paid him no mind, absolutely enthralled by the blue mist floating in front of his eyes. His dragon - it was amazing to think, his dragon; his - was solidifying slowly, taking her time so as to not bother Hanzo’s senses again. Her form manifested before his eyes; one moment she was mist, the next she was sitting in front of him, eagerly taking in the sight of her new master._

_Hanzo slowly got to his feet, moving closer timidly, as if he was scared of chasing her off. She was about the size of a large Shiba Inu, a thought compounded by how she even sat like a dog; her snout was thin,, horns small, and whiskers long. Her nose surprisingly soft with nostrils that flexed as she inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her new home. Her lithe scaly body looked far more intimidating than any dog’s, with the sharp scales ridged along her back and sharp claws on her feet, and yet the slight, excited wagging of her tail only served to encourage him forward._

_“You’re so big,” he whispered in awe, unable to tear his eyes off of her as she stood, spellbound by how graceful she moved, “for a spirit dragon. Bigger than I was told you’d be. I thought you’d be more… my size.”_

_“And you’re rather small for a human. I really am your size; in fact, if I stood on my hind legs, I might be taller than you.” she teased, her large eyes roaming over his form. Her attention was only on him, uncaring and uninterested about anyone else in the room. “Tell me, small master, what is your name?”_

_Hanzo sucked in a breath, ashamed he had forgotten his manners. He should have offered his name already. That was a punishable snafu. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I should have-” he answered, his panic subsiding when he saw how patiently she was waiting for him to stop blabbering. She wasn’t scolding him for forgetting himself, instead allowing him time to compose himself. “Hanzo, My name is Shimada Hanzo.”_

_“Hanzo? What an interesting name,” she said, standing gracefully. She mulled the name over, walking a quick circle around him. “You’re my most favorite Hanzo I’ve ever met,” she said decidedly with a nod of her head._

_“I am? Thank you!” he said excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet briefly before he remembered to still himself. “How many others have you met?”_

_“None! You’re my only master and you’re my first human ever, let alone my first Hanzo,” she told him with a laugh, butting her head against him playfully. “And also my most favorite of them all too! We’re going to learn so much together!”_

_Hanzo laughed as she dipped between his small legs, her tail curling around his hip. Tentatively, he reached down, his hand moving slowly towards her snout. He wanted to touch her, he wanted to know what she felt like, but he didn’t want to upset her._

_“The creature has solidified. Stop wasting time, Sojiro.” an elder had said._

_His father’s voice was quiet. “But-”_

_“Sojiro,” Kyoko said sternly, silencing any argument. “We talked about this. It’s what’s best for the clan. And for our family.”_

_“Hanzo is family.” Sojiro had said. “He’s our son-”_

_“No.” Kyoko had said. “He’s not. Not any longer. Do as the clan needs, Sojiro, see if we can fix the boy into a decent bargaining chip…. We need to keep our son safe, and that involves satisfying our allies. Unless you wish to lose Genji too?...”_

_His parents were arguing again, and so were the elders. It happened too frequently, it was all they ever did anymore, and so loudly, that Hanzo had learned how to quickly tune it out so that it bothered him no longer. His dragon, privy to his thoughts, indulged in his whimsical distractions and shoved her snout into his waiting hand, letting him feel her. Her skin was cool, the scales like glass, he rubbed down her neck, marveling at how, despite the many layers, the ridges were near non-existent._

_This was incredible. She was incredible._

_She? His dragon had a better name than that, surely. She was more than just a she, more than just his dragon, just as now he was more than just her master. He was her Hanzo, and now he wanted a name to call her by._

_Hanzo stepped back so that she was no longer brushing against the inside of his legs. They stood across from each other, the distance small, as she excitedly awaited what her young master would say next._

_“Sojiro!” his father’s name was barked from somewhere in the back of the room. There was a loud sigh, a defeated one, and then the scrape of metal on metal. Soft footsteps padded closer, but neither Hanzo nor his dragon cared. They were too caught up in the excitement of meeting each other to care about anyone else right now._

_“You know my name,” Hanzo said, his fascinating and curiosity burning like an untamed wildfire. “Please, dragon, tell me; what is yours?”_

_“My name?” She asked. “That doesn’t matter any longer; you get to name me whatever you want. That is who I shall be.”_

_“But I want your name, dragon,” he said. “You had one, didn’t you? That is the one I want to use.”_

_“I did have one, yes; you’re so polite. And you... You want my name?! I get to keep it?” She said excitedly. “Yes, yes, of course, Hanzo! My name is-”_

_Her reply was cut short, the words dying in her mouth as his father’s sharp sword sliced through her, the tip flashing past Hanzo’s eyes and sliding cleanly through her middle. Vivid red dragon’s blood splashed onto Hanzo’s cheek and he could only stare as his dragon fell, split into two mirroring halves. He gazed up at his father, fear alight in his eyes, too scared to ask, why; why had his father just killed his dragon?_

_Had he messed up that badly already?_

_Then, fear be damned, he was unable to voice any thoughts as fire erupted in his chest. An intense burn lit up his body, straight down his middle, and all he could do was scream. He shrieked in fear, in anger, in confusion, in agony, collapsing to the floor, his hands grasping at the mats in desperation for any kind of relief._

_Two men sprinted towards the middle of the room, towards him and his dragon, frightening him further. They picked up the halves of the dragon, dragging them out of sight, a trail of bright blood showing the diverging paths. And Hanzo, furious at how they were treating his dragon, screamed louder. It was the only thing he was able to do to express himself in the midst of his suffering._

_“Quiet him down, can’t you?” his mother had said, her voice distorted as Hanzo floated in and out of consciousness. “He might wake Genji.”_

_One of the servants, trying to follow Lady Shimada’s order, stepped towards Hanzo. However he had been planning on quieting the boy was unknown, but his father clearly didn’t trust whatever he was thinking. Sojiro scooped his limp form up into his arms, one of the few times Hanzo was ever picked up._

_“He’s a child.” he had growled. Hanzo was pulled closer as the other man reached out, and a red flash lit up the room. His father’s dragon, large enough to dominate the room, appeared, its crimson form demanding silence and attention. Hanzo rarely saw his father’s dragon; this was but one of the few times, though he was hardly conscious enough to appreciate its majesty._

_“I will ensure he is tended to and that he makes it through this alive.” His position made, Sojiro headed for the door, planting a soft kiss on Hanzo’s burning forehead and whispering what seemed to be reassurances to him. “Your dragon will heal. Eventually. Spirit dragons cannot be killed by man; she’s alive currently, just in great pain, the pain you feel. She will heal herself in due time... Like a sea star; remember your lesson?. And once she is healed, and you as well, you be powerful. More powerful than any before you. The leader this clan needs. Aren’t you excited, Hanzo?”_

_Hanzo could only whimper in response, tears spilling down his eyes. Everything hurt and he didn’t understand what was happening anymore. Where was his dragon? Where was his mother? Genji? Where were they? He wanted to see them. He wanted to see them so, so bad before he fell asleep. Where had they all gone?_

_“Shh, don’t. Save your strength.” Sojiro said quietly. “I love you. Have I said that recently? It's been awhile, hasn't it? I wouldn’t blame you for despising me as I did my father before me. It is only just for your sufferings… I’m sorry, my son. Hanzo. For having to live this life that's been planned out for you. It is what the eldest must do, but… I'm so sorry. ”_

_The world blacked out as young Hanzo fell unconscious, his pain overwhelming him_ , and so ended the memory for Hanzo. There was more, plenty more once he reawoke, but it wasn’t anything he was too keen to remember. He was already overwhelmed enough. There was no need to punish himself further by going down that rabbit hole.

He took a step back away from his mother as the horror dawned. “Father didn't call for the fracture, did he?" he asked, already knowing the answer. "He didn’t want to go through with it. But you did. You gave them permission to experiment with my life, consequences be damned.”

“It was supposed to make you stronger, so strong that they wouldn't need Genji, and you would finally be enough,” Kyoko said. “But then you were so weak and took so long to recover that-”

“Mother, I was bedridden, in pain, for the months it took my dragon to heal.” Hanzo countered, barely finding any ability to speak as the shock began setting in. His hand clutched at the front of his armor, seeking some kind, any kind, of comfort. There was none to be found. “I nearly died-”

“Maybe it would have been better if you had,” she said, her stare hard as stone. “If you had, then maybe this clan wouldn’t have fallen into such disarray. If you had, then we’d remember you as the prodigy that you were, not the failure that you are. Because if you had, then maybe Genji would still be alive.”

That was a thought that Hanzo had so, so many times. It wasn’t a sentiment that he was unfamiliar with. Still, to hear someone wish it aloud? That was a rough twist of the knife already in his back.

“But, no, you lived. And you killed him. You took my son away from me and gave us nothing in return.” she said. “When you took too long to recover, the clan entertained the idea of bonding that dragon to him, assuming she lived. Even though you both survived, the idea was implanted. He was bonded, against my will, when he was twelve or so. He was thrilled at the idea, eager even, unaware of what it meant after. He became the backup heir, or at least, he could work with people; all you knew was how to order them around or tackle a task solo. Some even wanted Genji to lead instead of you, at least until he began rebelling.”

That came as a surprise to Hanzo. He hadn’t known that Genji was ever in contention for the throne. He had assumed it was his by birthright. If some wanted Genji to lead, then it made far more sense why the elders were furious that Genji was less than interested with the inner-workings of the clan.

“But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew that not only was Genji competing for your throne but also that he was the only son I loved.” his mother’s voice broke through. “That’s why you killed him, isn’t it? Because you’re an angry, jealous, sad, selfish man. You would be nothing without us; just a beggar on a street corner begging for a scrap of pity. You’re an embarrassment to this family, even now.”

“No, I didn’t know-” Hanzo was struggling to follow the dips and turns of this mindfucking conversation, completely unprepared for such dark strands of his past to be weaved together into something so utterly hideous. He felt Hidari nudging at his thoughts, trying to take control for him, but, despite the concentration it took to tell her off, he would have none of it.  He needed a moment.  She wouldn't give him one.  She never would. “I-”

“This is how you repay the clan for rebuilding you after your crimes left you broken in mind, body, and soul? How could you be so selfish? You’re flawed, unlovable, and selfish. Even now-” she motioned towards him, waving her hand up and down. “Look at you. What have you done with your hair? It’s terrible. And that… thing on the bridge of your nose. It’s trashy. And what is with that shit caked around your eyes? And those clothes? Are you trying to become Genji? Because you will never be half the man he was. Who could ever love someone like you-?”

“I have someone.” he broke in, interrupting her attack, unable to listen to her belittle the changes he had made in his life. “I have Jesse. Jesse loves me for who I am.” As the words left his mouth, Hanzo’s heart sank. Did Jesse love him? He didn’t know.

And besides that, if he did, he loved Hanzo for who he thought he isn’t, not who he is.

Still, his words gave his mother pause. Her mouth moved, not a sound emerging from her lips, and her posture straightened. She blinked a few times thoughtfully.

“Jessie? What a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, I’m sure” she asked, her voice so suddenly cheerful it was terrifying. “I’m so proud of you, Hanzo, I knew you’d find someone… Have you had any children? Are you planning to?”

Chills skirting down his spine, Hanzo loathe to clarify, but he did. “Jesse is a man, mother.”

Her smile fell instantly. “A man? Jessie’s a man? You can’t have children with-” she snarled at him, glaring at the ground before her eyes flicked back towards him. “You. Are. So. selfish. How am I supposed to have another chance to have a family if you won’t give me one? You could have given this family an heir, a proper one, one that wouldn’t grow up to be such an utter failure! This ‘relationship’ of yours is nothing but a waste of time. He, whoever he is, doesn’t love you. No one does, you intolerable buffoon. Why would they? What have you ever done to deserve it? You’re the same sad, pathetic failure you’ve always been; just taller and more hideous than before.”

Hidari and Migi had heard enough. The air crackled thickly with electricity, sparks filling the room as they summoned themselves, Hidari placing herself between Hanzo and Kyoko, and Migi silently standing by Hanzo’s side for support. “ _You wicked, wicked woman_ ,” Hidari growled. “ _Haven’t you said enough with that lying mouth of yours?_ ”

His mother met Hidari’s stare easily. “Which half is daring to speak to me?” she asked Hanzo, ignoring the seething dragons before her. “The left or the right?”

“ _Left_ ,” Hidari answered for him, allowing him some much-needed distance from this trauma inducing confrontation. “ _You wicked woman. You’re the living incarnation of hypocrisy with every word you utter with that large mouth of yours. You’ve said your piece. I think you’re done._ ”

“ _Hypocrisy_?” Kyoko laughed. “Look at the disgrace! He has destroyed all he’s touched. There has been no change, no improvement, he is the failure he always was. He is irredeemable.”

“ _And once more your hypocrisy has shown itself.  Unsurprising.  It's always difficult to tell the pig's head from its tail when they both spew shit._ ” Hidari replied far too calmly. “ _You cannot proclaim his progress is meaningless when you do not even understand where he started. You are hypocrisy incarnate and utterly despicable and I wish to tear you limb from limb if only to silence your damned lies with screams of agony._ ”

“Am I a hypocrite when all I do is speak the truth?” Kyoko asked, eyes on Migi as she stepped forward in front of Hanzo, pressing herself against his legs. “Why do you have the right to decide if what I speak is hypocrisy or enlightenment?”

Both Hidari and Migi simultaneously shrieked in reply. “ _Because I raised him!_ ” she said. “ _I nurtured him where you neglected him. There was a hole and I filled it, being the voice of reason and affection he always craved. He may be birthed from your loins, but he was raised by dragons_.”

“ _I helped him become a powerful young master, one that could have easily ruled the clan should you not have broken his mind, body, and spirit,”_ Hidari said _._

“ _I helped him thrive after he was taught not to want, and taught only obey,”_ Migi added.

“ _I helped him with your studies and tests so he could meet your ruthless expectations and try to make you and Sojiro proud."_

_“I helped him pick birthday presents out for the mother he barely knew in a desperate bid to earn your affection.”_

_“I helped him realize what the elders had turned him into; a murderous puppet who had never been taught how to say no.”_

_“And I helped him run away and fly from his jeweled birdcage and taste how sweet freedom is.”_

_“Do not even dare imply that you, not I, know what he has gone through. I have been with him for almost every step of the way, and I know how he has managed to prosper because of it,_ ” Hidari finished, taking a small step or two closer to Kyoko. “ _You wicked, wicked woman. I shall destroy you where you stand._ ”

Her claws curled into the soft floor mat as Hidari and Migi prepared to lunge towards Kyoko, but a word had them pausing.

“No,” Hanzo said quietly, grabbing the group’s attention. “Not yet,” he added.

The dragons heeded his order. With one simple hand gesture calling them back they drew to his side, flanking him as they regarded Kyoko with dark eyes.

With his dragons taking control of the situation, Hanzo had had time to process everything, understand just how thoroughly his reality had been shattered, his memories fucked, and think upon the information he had received. Now he was ready to take control of the situation once more.

“Is it true that you are the Shimada clan leader?” he asked, interrupting her the moment she opened her mouth. “Don’t bother trying to lie to me, Kyoko, respect my intelligence more than that; Kaiichi implied as much.”

“I lead the clan from behind the scenes,” she confirmed, not having much else of a choice. “I was content to let others rule, but they did such a terrible job that I had to intervene.”

“So it is you that has decided to align the clan with Talon?” he asked.

“Yes. You were too selfish to take them up on their offer to restore our empire, so I committed to it,” she said. “They get use of our routes and our men to move what they want. We get a share of profits, we get power, and that is more than fair in my eyes.”

“Then I hope you are aware that this will be your downfall,” Hanzo said flatly. “And what of the boon you offered? What could you possibly give to Talon to ensure such a generous contract?”

“You,” she said. “We have promised that we will hunt you down and deliver you to their doorstep. They want you, Hanzo, they have for years, and I think that is but a small price to pay. We couldn’t ask for anything more in exchange for the family failure.”

Upon hearing her reply, words replayed in his head. _"I have been wanting to cash in on your bounty from the clan,"_ Hachidori had said, _"A_ _nd I think the the clan would like to have you back, you know?”_

"So that's what Hachidori meant.... You understand that if anyone here tried to lay a hand on me I will kill them where they stand,” Hanzo said, his voice tired and devoid of all emotion. He had cut himself off emotionally to make it through his encounter, and he would suffer for it later. “I will win, no matter the number of men you send to die. It is what I was taught to do, it is what I know, and it is what will be done. You know this. You don’t have many men to waste. Let me and my comrade walk out of here untouched and lives will be spared. Send even but one man to make any sort of attempt and my fury will know no bounds.”

Her lips pinched into a thin frown. “I’m aware, Hanzo. I’m not dimwitted. You may have your peace treaty for the rest of the day.” she said. “But after that, we will hunt you. We will be in the shadows, waiting for you to show weakness, and the moment you do we will strike.”

“I will look forward to decimating the clan numbers one by one every time you send you lemmings to die,” Hanzo replied. “It should be but a simple exercise to defeat them. An enjoyable one, I would imagine.”

“Silence. Don’t speak so knowingly when you’ve long since abandoned this clan. You know nothing.” she said. “We have more tricks than you realize.  A room you know far too well ready and waiting for your inevitable capture.”

“I may not know much, far less than I assumed, but I do know that it is you  that has destroyed this clan once and for all,” he said, looking down at her. “I suppose I should thank you for that. It saves me much grief in putting it down myself. It is a shame, though, that you are so content with risking so many innocent lives.”

“No, I have not destroyed anything. That blame lies with you. And I consider it but a small price. The weapons and drugs we smuggled were responsible for deaths; I merely consider this the natural evolution of chaos that accompanies power. ” she told him, gripping her kimono tightly. “You have no right to judge, you wastrel. I will bring this clan back into power. In honor of Sojiro, in honor of Genji, and in spite of you.”

“You speak boldly for a woman whose life was just spared. You do realize it wasn’t done out of kindness?” Hanzo said. “Killing you now would spare you much pain. But I will leave you to drown a slow death in the well of your atrocities and sins.”

He motioned for his dragons to return to him and they obliged, disappearing from sight. He turned and began heading for the door, beyond finished with his conversation, but his mother’s quiet voice made him pause.

“You mentioned Taki,” she said nervously. “Where is she?”

He turned to face her, his brow knit tight. “Taki?” he asked. “Who is Taki?”

“Hachidori.” she clarified tersely. “You said you talked to her. Have you seen her recently? She said she had been hired for a job and she’s yet to return.”

Hanzo’s heart sank deep into the pit of his stomach. “She was but a simple assassin the clan had in their pocket,” he said carefully. “Why are you so concerned?”

She paused, eyes nervously staring Hanzo down, his question bringing no sense of comfort. “She did work for us. We grew close. She was perfect. Of like-mind.” his mother said. “She was like the child I always wanted. The daughter I never had. I was teaching her to be my eventual successor. Where is she? Tell me.”

Those words stung more than Hanzo was ready for. He loathe to tell her the truth, but he felt it best to. Not telling her would inflict much cruelty when her building hope was dashed when she finally learned the truth. Not even Hanzo was ready to be that cruel to her.

“Hachidori is dead,” he said, not daring to look her in the eyes.

“Dead? What? Taki? No. No. She can’t be.” she said, both hands twisting the fabric of her kimono. “She’s too skilled to just be- She wouldn’t just- How can you be so sure she’s dead?”

His throat grew tight and his lip curled into a disgusted snarl. “Because I’m the one that _killed_ her,” he admitted tiredly. He forced himself to meet her eyes and he was met with a look of absolute horror.

“You-...You killed Hachidori,” she repeated in a shocked trance. Hanzo could have tried to argue that she had tried to kill him first and he had only reacted in self-defense, to protect him and Jesse, but he didn’t see the point. His mother had made it clear she’d prefer him dead. He’d rather not hear her say it again. “You killed my daughter.”

She stepped towards him and he felt his skin burn as the tattoo glowed, the air crackling to life once more. His dragons were warning her back, threatening, daring her, to take another step forward. They’d happily devour her if she did.

Kyoko froze, realizing the threat. Her hands balled into tight fists and her face twisted in pain. “You murderer!” she screamed, tears racing down her face, her eye paint staining her cheeks. “You just take and take and take! When will you be satisfied? You killed my daughter, my son, and my husband. What more can you destroy, you bastard? What more can you take from me?”

He merely gazed at her, unable to voice a better argument than: “You’re wrong. I did nothing to father.” He at least had that thought to hold onto. Out of all the damage he had done, he had done nothing to Sojiro. It was but a small positive but it was his to claim.

“You made him weak. You infected him,” she told him. “Talon had asked for an alliance with him, with us, and he refused, concerned what they would do with you. They didn’t like that. You killed Sojiro.”

Hanzo could only look at her. Had Talon asked for an alliance with Sojiro? He had never known that. Though, it would explain why he had always seemed so unsettled in the days before he passed suddenly.

And then suddenly, his behavior made sense.

“Talon killed father, didn’t they?” he asked. “And that is why you’ve aligned with them. You’re scared of them. Not that you mind giving me up, I’m sure.”

The fury in her gaze burned with a thousand suns. She eyed her fallen sword for a brief moment, but the dragons warned her off. “I have no reason to be scared of them. I trust them more than I trust you. How much of this would have never come to be if you had never been born?” she hissed. “How much suffering would I have been spared if you had been enough?”

Hidari and Migi were having none of this. “ _Hanzo_ ,” Hidari said. “ _There is nothing more here for you to learn._ ”

“ _There is nothing more for you here_ ,” Migi added solemnly. " _Not any longer._ "

Their voices synced as they gave him a suggestion of a command. “ _Go_.”

They were right. What more was there? Nothing. He best be off before she changed her mind about him leaving peacefully.

He paused before he left the room, taking one last look at the grief-stricken woman in front of him. “Goodbye, mother,” he said, for the last time. “It was lovely talking to you.”

He slid the wall back and stepped through the doorway. He felt numb. His heart was pounding and his hands shaking. What had this turned into? What had his life become? What had it been?

It was hard to focus through the fog, with Hidari trying to soothe and Migi trying to apologize, with blood thumping through his ears and the joyful laughter of children upsetting him further. It was his past haunting him once more, reminding him of when he and Genji were young.

Except it wasn’t. Upon further inspection, farther out in the room. Hanzo discovered the source of the sound. Two young boys were playing on the stairs to the ground floor, their laughter echoing through the large room.

Children weren’t allowed here, not unsupervised. The balcony faced a cliff and it was easy for an overexcited youngling to tip over the low fence. The way they ducked low in a poor attempt to hide from Hanzo’s gaze made it obvious that they had sneaked into an off-limits building to play.

Hanzo should have left them alone. He should have walked out the door and left the grounds immediately. Instead, the older brother in him resurfaced and he knew that he couldn’t leave them alone in here. What if they went into the back room and found Kaiichi? It could scar them for life.

“Come here,” he said, trying to coax them up the stairs. It didn’t work, the two of them ducked lower and giggled. “I know you’re not supposed to be here. Shall I go tell someone that you’re playing in here? Would they like that?”

The two brothers exchanged a look and then slowly stood, making their way to Hanzo. “Come with me,” he said, leading them out the front door, hands on the shoulders to guide them. “I know somewhere you’ll enjoy.”

He lead them outside, cutting through an underpass of the bridge. They walked back towards the main gate but stopped as soon as they reached a small pond.

“Have you ever counted the koi? It’s a simple game,” he asked, gazing down at the pond full of energetic fish. The orange, black, and white scales mixed together as the small fish darted to and fro. The two brothers shook their head in reply, and he continued. “Then count them. And don’t stop until you know how many are in the pond, or until someone calls you away. And if you even think of stepping foot into the pond, then you will also have to count their scales, which is much more difficult. So don’t.”

Hanzo let himself enjoy the pond for a moment. There was something just so utterly soothing about the fish just wriggling through the clear blue water. It was… nice, to say the least. Especially after what he had just gone through.

His mental lull was cut short by a sharp cry echoing through his mind. Hidari’s angry growl overlapping with Migi’s fearful cry had him whipping around defensively to see what the matter was. Had the clan already gone back on their word of a peaceful exit?

No. That wasn’t it, unfortunately.

McCree stood on the higher ground, his footsteps silent, the rifle in his hands pointed at Hanzo’s head, a frown on his lips. Did he know? Had someone tipped him off about who Hanzo was? He had said that he wanted to shoot the elder Shimada right between the eyes. Did he still mean it?

What a fitting way for it all to end.

Hanzo could only stare at Jesse, frozen in place, his mind racing and yet oddly accepting of the situation. Thankfully, the rifle was lowered a moment later, the safety clicked on.

“If you’da’ve hurt a hair on those kids at all, I would've put you down here and now,” McCree said, letting his aim fall completely.

“If I ever become the type of man who would hurt a child, then I should hope that you would,” Hanzo replied easily, watching him hook the gun back over his shoulder.

“Didn’t think you were gonna,” McCree told him, jumping down to the lower ground with a grunt. “Still, you got a decent amount of crimson on you for a job that was supposed to have been bloodless. I heard a gun go off.  Complications, I assume?.”

He’d rather not talk about it, but that wasn’t likely to be an option. If he had to talk about it, he’d rather do it somewhere else, anywhere that wasn’t here. So Hanzo began leading him out towards the gate. “You could say that.”

“Any success?” McCree asked, letting Hanzo guide him.

“Unfortunately not,” Hanzo said grimly. “They are your enemy now, as well as mine.”

“Truth be told? That ain’t gonna bother me a bit.” McCree said with a casual shrug. “Now there's no reason the Shitmurderers can't be taken down.”

Whatever else was said was missed. Hanzo began to tune the world out as his paper mache wall began to crumble and his numbness gave way to pain. Now that he didn't fear appearing weak in front of those that despised him, the events of the past became a heavy burden on his soul once more.

Hanzo had been heading straight for the gate, but McCree looped an arm over his shoulder and guided him back to the cliffside where their things had been hidden. Once their forgotten supplies had been remembered and grabbed, and McCree helped him slip on his jacket, they walked directly out of the gate.

Hanzo couldn't help but look back one more time, taking one last look at the grounds. Too much effort was used to commit it to memory, trying to parse the good times from the bad. With Genji alive, and his yearly memorial redundant, and his mother declaring war, there wasn't any reason for him to ever return to the castle. Not anymore.

He would miss it. He actually would. The grounds were beautiful and all he had known for years. As much the playground of his youth as it had been the prison of his adulthood. Realizing that he was never going to return hit him hard then he expected, the sensation tasting bittersweet, his throat tightening and eyes stinging with tears that didn’t deserve to flow.

As they approached the car, Hanzo reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys while McCree took his place on the passenger's side. It took multiple tries to flip the car key into his grasp so that he could unlock the door, the key slipping out of his shaking hands more times than he cared to admit. In a fit of frustration and fury, he punched the driver's side window, the spiderwebbed glass shattering all over the car’s interior.

“Well, we didn't need that window anyway,” McCree said with nothing more than a shrug and a quirked brow. His attention was now on Hanzo and now he noticed the shaking hands and the silent breakdown taking place. He walked around the front of the car, closing the gap between him and Hanzo.

“Gimme the key, O,” he said quietly, hand out, waiting and ready for the key. “I'll drive.”

Hanzo glanced up at him, back down to the keys, and then shouldered past McCree into the car, sitting lightly on a throne of broken glass. He could drive. He could drive just fine. How dare he be told that he couldn’t.

All he had to do was get a grip on this stupid, stupid key that kept jumping out of his grasp, there, like that, and then get them into the damn ignition, assuming the ignition would stop jumping around like that, and-

Jesse's hand laid over his gently pried away at his death grip on the keys. Hanzo was tired enough that he let him, giving up without much more of a fight, still trying to hold himself together. He wasn’t doing the best job of it, clearly.

“I'd like to drive this time, if you don’t mind,” Jesse gently told him, working the car key off of the ring. He handed Hanzo his key ring, and all the personal items on it, back once he had the rental’s key in his hand. “Go ‘round to the passenger side for me, would you? You’re the one who gets to relax on this drive’. You’ve been chauffeur me ‘round this whole time, so I figure it’s ‘bout time for me to return the favor.”

McCree guided Hanzo upright, out of the driver’s seat, quickly brushing glass off of Hanzo’s backside before he herded him over to the passenger side. He popped open the door and waved Hanzo inside, helping him get situated. Closing the door behind him, Jess went around the front of the car, trying to slide on the hood but losing momentum half-way across. With a half-hearted scoot to try to finish the slide, Jesse gave up and walked the rest of the way around.

He brushed glass out of the driver’s seat and plugged the key into the ignition, starting the car. He glanced over towards Hanzo’s way as he pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Can you plug our destination into the GPS for me?” he asked, motioning towards the device while he lit up his cigarette. “Don’t gotta say nothing, you don’t seem to be in a talking kind of mood, ‘an that’s fine. I just need to be able to get us back to the hotel.”

Hanzo could manage that. He leaned over and punched in their destination, his fingers fumbling over the digital keys. Once it was keyed in, he leaned back in the seat and shut his eyes, listening as the car engine roared to life and Jesse began driving them back. The engine sounded surprisingly solid considering how the rest of the car looked.

Rocking gently in the seat, Hanzo was swallowing down the urge to react, to react to his shattered world, to react to the truth thrust upon his unwilling self, to react to the anger he felt bubbling deep in his soul.

But if there was one thing that had been pounded into his head, it was that reacting emotionally was bad. He had been raised to be stoic and sturdy as a stone. 

But even a small stream could crack a boulder eventually. Why should Hanzo have to be any stronger than pure stone?

His hand instinctively ducked into his pocket for his keychain, a known source of comfort. His fingers absentmindedly twirled the tines of the shuriken, the repetitive motion pleasantly familiar in the midst of a world on fire.

Despite how it helped, a voice in the back of his head chided him for the childish action. A toy shouldn’t offer this much relief. It was immature. A sign of how incapable he was. Yet another demonstration of his incompetencies.

 _Weak_. He was weak.

In a fit of anger, and desperation to quiet the taunting voice, he wrapped the keychain in a tight fist and threw it out the window.

At least, he attempted to.

In the midst of his wind-up, his left arm jumped to life, latching onto his right wrist and throwing his right arm back down inside the vehicle in less than a half-second, the stinging slap of a scolding hand the only proof the movement had ever occurred. The next wind-up he tried was stalled by a metal hand grabbing onto his arm and pinning it down between the seats.

“What are you trying to pitch out the window?” Jesse asked him, his grip like iron. “You tossing ‘round the music player again?”

“No. It’s none of your business.” Hanzo growled through clenched teeth, struggling to tear himself away and finish his task.

“I’m making it my business, O. So, once more, what are you trying to pitch?” he asked, his tone as firm as his hand. “Other than a fit, I mean.”

Hanzo glared at Jesse, enraged at the restraint, but Jesse’s eyes were locked onto the road so it had no effect. With an angry huff and another failed attempt at pulling his hand loose, it was clear that Jesse wasn’t going to let this drop without an answer.

“I’ve now decided that my keychain and its infantile trinkets are below me, so I assumed that throwing it down a mountainside would be of safe disposal,” Hanzo answered, fighting and losing yet again. “So let me _dispose_.”

Nope.” was the immediate reply.

“ _No_?” Hanzo asked incredulously. Who was McCree to tell him no over-… over something as trivial as this? How dare he.

“Yes. No. Give it to me.” Jesse said, waiting for Hanzo’s hand to fall open. It didn’t, so he waited another minute. It still didn’t. “O. You told me how important that is to you. I’m not letting you chuck it out a window when it’s clear that somethin’s bothering you-”

“At the moment, that would be _you_.” Hanzo snarled, his annoyance growing tenfold at the mention of his emotional weakness.

“-So you’re going to give it to me.” Jesse finished, paying the insult no mind. “And I’ll hold onto it until you want it back.”

With one last defiant look, Hanzo gave in. It was clear that he was going to lose. It was three against one in this situation and he knew couldn’t win. He opened his hand and let the keys fall into Jesse’s lap.

In a way, he told himself, this was a win of its own right. If he didn’t ask for the keychain back, then Jesse would just have to hold onto it. In a way, this counted as a disposal, clearly. In a way, by losing, he had won.

Jesse tucked the keychain into his pocket, out of Hanzo’s reach, and the glanced over Hanzo’s way. “You wanna talk about whatever’s botherin’ you?” he asked Hanzo. “I’m a pretty good listener, at least I am when I shut up long enough to be. That’s what I’ve been told anyway. By a couple people at least. And I’d do that for you. Shut up, I mean. So that I can listen and hear whatever’s bothering you out. If you wanted.”

“You can actually be quiet on command?” Hanzo asked him, half-joking, half-seriously inquiring, and half-insulting him, which mathematically didn't work, a fact he found irritating.

“Yessir, the quietest. The very quietest. Quieter than a church mouse than on the Lord's holy day. Super quiet. So quiet you’d forget that I was even here. I can do quiet.” McCree said with a nod. “Wouldn’t do it for many people, not unless I was asked, but I’d do it for you, O. Anytime, any day, I would shut up for a bit, just for you. That’s how special you are to me.”

Hanzo debated the offer. He couldn’t actually explain what was bothering him, not without telling Jesse who he was and risking a gunshot to the face. There was no subtle way to go about talking about how the woman he had thought was his mother was just a figment of his imagination and how his actual mother had usurped whatever placeholder had been ruling the clan, aligned herself with a terrorist group, and declared war on a man she regretted giving birth to and had sworn to hunt down and hand over to the terrorist group. That wasn’t exactly a subtle sort of topic to try to broach.

However, Jesse was stubborn. If Hanzo didn’t give him an answer then Jesse wouldn’t let the subject drop. Yes, he would probably give up for the moment, or at least pretend to, but he wouldn’t actually give up. He would bide his time, keep his ears peeled, and then ask again later. And later, Hanzo might just be weak enough to crack.

The only logical route to take was to give him an answer, a truthful one, but not the whole truth. Jesse was too clever to be taken in by a lie, but he would be sated with but a grain of truth off Hanzo’s dish full of disaster.

“I killed a man,” he answered slowly as he wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to wipe off the shit that was caked around his eyes, for he didn't feel like wearing it any longer, he didn't deserve to.  It was stubborn, though, as all he managed was smearing it up towards his temples, staining his face and palm black.  "He pulled a gun and we wrestled and it went off. That wasn’t supposed to have happened. His blood is on my hands.”

Jesse didn’t hesitate. “Aw, baby, no, don't-" he said, glancing Hanzo's way and watching him fail spectacularly at yet another worthless, pointless, self-absorbed task. "It ain’t your fault-”

“If I had not been there, then he would not have died.” Hanzo interrupted, trying and failing to wipe his face clean.  He gave up not long after.  What was the point of this?  Of anything? “No one was supposed to have died today. No one.”

“He pulled the gun. He threw the situation out of the frying pan and into the fire. All you did was react in self-defense.” Jesse said, speaking sternly so as to keep Hanzo’s attention. “It is not your fault, O. You hear me? This ain’t on you. And truth be told? I’d much rather it be him than you.”

Hanzo said nothing in reply. While he was also glad that it had been Kaiichi and not him, his opinion still stood. No one should have died. No one needed to. Nothing much would be different if Kaiichi was still alive. Nothing had come of it and nothing had been lost. His death had been meaningless.

After a long moment of silence, with nothing but the roar of the engine to fill the void of sound, Jesse opened his mouth. “You, ah, remember those comic books? The ones I said that Gabe lent me to read?”

“You mentioned something of the sort last night, yes,” Hanzo replied quietly. “I vaguely recall that. What about them?”

“Well, between you an’ me, I didn’t enjoy a fair amount of them. Most of the stories were ‘bout a good guy who was too up in his own morals to do his job, ‘cause killin’ the bad guy would make them just as bad or whatever. So they’d let the villain live, then in the next issue the bad guy’d break out, and then a couple hundred people would die because of ‘em.” he said, casting a slow glance Hanzo’s way. “Pissed me off something’ fierce. They decided that their morals were worth more to ‘em then the people they’d sworn to protect, so to keep their squeaky clean persona, they’d just let people die without a care. Sometimes hard decisions have to be made, and morals grayed an’ set aside for the greater good, an’ there ain’t nothing wrong with that. It just took me a lil’ while to learn for m’self.” Jesse blew out a puff of smoke. “...Never really did like that much.”

Hanzo weighed his words. Jesse had a point. With Kaiichi’s death came time. The Shimada clan would have to take the time to groom the next puppet, to establish him as a competent “leader” before any other clans would even take him seriously. The clan would lose some respect when word traveled that either a random assassin, embarrassing, or the disgraced son Hanzo, even more embarrassing, had merely walked onto the grounds and killed the “leader”.

Having Talon in their back pocket would help in some ways, but they would still have to start from square one, which would slow down any progress the clan, and consequently, Talon, had right now.

So perhaps his death hadn’t been meaningless after all. Perhaps, even, it would be for the greater good. That shed a new light on things. It was some dreadfully needed positive on this positively dreadful kind of day.

“Perchance you have a point.” Hanzo acknowledged slowly.

A slight smile ticked onto Jesse’s lips. “Perchance I do.” he agreed.

Hanzo fell silent once more. While one small burden had been lifted from his shoulders, it was but a leaf from the tree of trouble that had sprung forth. Fortunately, it had born at least one piece of good fruit thus far, though that was probably the extent he’d receive.

“Do you have a spare cigarette?” Hanzo asked, hand pausing on his mask. A quick smoke would be nice. Maybe calming. He needed calming.

Without a word, Jesse pulled out the pack of cheap cigarettes and one-handed slid a cigarette out with one hand. He held it out to Hanzo between two fingers and once it was taken, he shut the pack and slid it back in a pocket. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it on, eyes never leaving the road. He knew that Hanzo would have to take his mask off the smoke and he was going to respect his privacy as best he could.

Sliding his mask down, Hanzo slipped the cigarette between his lips, ensuring that his hand covered up as much of the lower part of his face as possible. Then he leaned in towards the flame, lighting the tip of his cigarette and taking a deep inhale, watching through lidded eyes as Jesse pocketed the lighter once more. If he imagined hard enough, he could even pretend that this was him and Jesse having a cigarette break together, just enjoying each other’s company, like he had wanted to experience for so long.

It would be so nice to.

But hadn’t imagining been what had gotten him into this situation in the first place? Maybe it was best that he accepted this situation as it was; depressing and pathetic.

Talking had been nice, but now he was exhausted. It would be for the best if he held his focus inward. His emotions still threatened to burst out of him, into an absolutely disgusting sort of mess, and he thought it prudent to rein himself in as long as possible. He’d have his moment to combust later, a private one. There was one shred of dignity he still held currently, and he’d cling onto like a drowning man to a life preserver.

Jesse, thankfully, caught on immediately. The calm, robotic voice of the GPS was the only conversation partner Jesse needed, as evident by his occasional sarcastic comment back to the device every now and then. By the fifth or so comment, sure that Jesse didn’t mind the lack of conversation, Hanzo had tuned the world out, instead shutting his eyes and focusing on keeping his breathing steady with a poor man's meditation as he smoked for the rest of the drive.

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually, the car slowed. “We’re here,” Jesse said, causing Hanzo to open his eyes and survey the familiar hotel grounds. Without a word, he slid the cigarette out of his mouth as he slid up his mask. Opening the car door, dropped his cigarette onto the pavement and stamped out the dim flame with his boot.

“Where you wandering off to?” Jesse asked, slamming the driver’s side door shut. “Are we checking out? already”

“No,” Hanzo said, Jesse’s words making him pause. He fished a hand into his pocket, pulling out their room key. He turned back towards Jesse and casually tossed it to him. “Go relax. Take my bag up, if you don’t mind. I’ll be back later.”

That answer didn’t satisfy Jesse. “Where are you going?’ he asked, easily catching the card sent his way. If Hanzo had glanced the man’s way, he would have been met with a look of worry and concern. He knew better than that, though, and purposefully avoided meeting Jesse’s eyes. He didn’t need pity.  Pity would be insulting.

“To the gym,” Hanzo said with a shrug, turning and continuing on his way to the main building, leaving Jesse far behind. “I have a few… _things_ I need to work out of my system.”

Not only was there much anger to work out of his system, to bury deep below a wave of exercise-induced adrenaline. He also had many, many questions about what had just transpired. It was clear that Hidari and Migi had at least some of the answers he sought.

There was no room for Jesse in this equation. This was something that he and his dragons needed to handle alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Chapter warnings:  
> Emotional abuse.  
> Child endangerment.  
> Animal abuse.  
> Animal death.  
> Abusive parent.  
> Physical abuse.  
> Death.  
> If you think anymore should be added, please let me know.  
> \---------------
> 
> Hanzo's mother went through so many name changes. She started as Michi (which ended up being too close to Migi for my liking), Riki, and then Junko. Her name (Kyoko [鏡 = Mirror]) was one of the last things decided for the chapter. Just a fun fact for y'all.
> 
> Been thinking about going back and cleaning up/combining previous chapters, so if chapter numbers/ word counts change, don't panic. It's just me fiddling.
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all. See you all in the next one. Buh-bye!
> 
> Kudos and comments are super duper very much appreciated! Comments and feedback give me life.  
> \-----
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami
> 
> Please make sure to give the artist some love and check out their gorgeous work!
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold


	11. A Daniel Come to Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emooootions and feeeeeelings and more things that Hanzo haaaaaaaaates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry that this took forever. It was a hard chapter to write and went through 2-3 rewrites/tonal changes and I got a second job, and that's been kicking my butt too.
> 
> Also the A key on my laptop keeps popping off, so that's not really fun to deal with. If you seen words missing a's, that's why, and if you seen a's in weird spots, that's 'cause I was squishing it back down and forgot to delete it so, whoopsa.
> 
> Also probs gonna change the chapt name at some point but it's 1am and it's gonna be called either ^^^ or something with me grumping about naming it because i'm bad at naming my children. Just know that it's chapter 11. cool? cool.
> 
> Thanks so much for being patient, and I hope that you all find the chapter worth the wait.
> 
> Happy reading! =)

Sweat dripped down Hanzo’s body, his muscles crying out in agony as he continuously pounded the ratty punching bag in front of him. He didn’t know how long he had been here.  Time was irrelevant. All he knew was that he didn’t plan on leaving here until his emotions were either worked through or beaten senseless.

Strength training until he couldn’t walk wasn’t the healthiest method for coping, but it was what he knew.  He’d sweat and bleed until his body screamed out all the pain that he had been forbidden to express and then move onward once that wound had bled out dry.

His lungs burned like fire, but that didn’t stop him from practicing his kicks.  Ninty for each leg, just like he had done on the last three cycles. This was part of his routine, the one that he had repeated countless times back at the castle.  

At this moment, with everything falling to pieces, he _needed_ a routine, one of any kind, to help keep him sane.

Every time his leg connected with the bag his thighs screamed.  This was fine, he told himself. He was working through his problems by working them out, just as he had always done.  And then he would deal with the damage after.

By the fifty mark, he could barely stand, but he had to keep going.  He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t done. He had to keep going.

By eighty-five he could barely stand, slouching against the punching bag and using it for support.  His mouth felt like cotton. His throat burned with bile. Regardless, he couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t weak.  He had to keep going.  He had to show them that he wasn’t weak.

“ _You need to rest.”_ Hidari’s voice said.

He wasn’t done, he silently told her.

“ _At least have a drink of something?”_ Migi asked.   _“At least wet your throat.”_

He didn’t _have_ a drink, he told her.

“ _Then_ **_please_ ** _go get one,”_ Hidari said.  “ _There’s a vending machine in the hall.  Go use it.”_

“ _You have the emergency money in your inner pocket,”_ Migi added.  “ _There should be a small bill you can use!  Go, go! Get a drink! It’ll taste_ **_so_ ** _good, I promise.”_

Hanzo let out a deep, breathless sigh, forcing himself upright by shoving himself off of the punching bag.  He stumbled towards the door, colliding with and bouncing off of the door frame, and then catching himself on it.  Staggering forward, he caught himself before he smacked into the vending machine. Fumbling in his pocket for a small bill, he paid, and then punched the button for the most palatable-looking color of drink.

Snatching up what was dispensed, he stumbled back into the gym, yanked his mask down and downed half of the bottle in a desperate bid to quench his thirst.  In hindsight, it was a poor decision, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. His stomach cramp tightened horribly and it was all he could do to race over to the trash can in the corner before he vomited all over the floor.

His throat burned and his stomach tied itself up in worse knots.  His legs nearly gave out, but thankfully his arms were strong enough to keep him from pitching into the large trash can.

Once he was certain that his stomach was empty, and there was nothing more to puke, he pushed off the trash can, slamming back against the wall and sinking to his behind.  

“ _Maybe it’s best to rest,”_ Hidari advised.

No, he told her, he wasn’t done.

“ _Not done with what?”_ Migi asked.  “ _What more is there for you to do?”_

Still can move.  Still not over things.  There’s more to be done.

_“No,”_ Hidari told him.  “ _There isn’t.  Not unless you rest first.”_

You can’t stop me, he told her, too exhausted to move an inch.

“ _I don’t need to,”_ she replied.  “ _You can’t even stand.”_

Yes, I can, he told her, still not moving

“ _This is never going to end,”_ he heard Hidari murmur, “ _Migi!  Conference!”_

The two of them talked amongst each other, keeping their conversation private from Hanzo.  All he could hear where argumentative hemming and hawing, with intense whispers filling the gaps.  After a bit of heated discussion, Hidari and Migi returned to him.

_“Hanzo, sit and rest awhile.  You do want to be useful for tomorrow’s excursion, don’t you?”_ Hidari asked. “ _I doubt your McCree wants to carry you around on his shoulders on your next mission.”_

_“Though I’m sure that he would!”_ Migi quickly added.   _“So let’s sit and talk while we rest, okay?”_

Ugh, talking.  That was the last thing that he wanted to do.  He wasn't ready for it yet. Couldn’t he sit here and meditate about developments by himself just a while longer?

_“You’re not meditating._ ” Hidari pointed out. “ _You’re moping.”_

No, he wasn’t.  He was… was… was…

_“...Moping,_ ” Hidari said.   _“So let us talk.”_

But… talking.  Ugh. He didn’t want to.

“ _Oh, come on, it’s not gonna be that bad,”_ Migi said.   _“We just…”_

No.

“ _I’ve waited for years for this conversation, Hanzo.  I can wait a few minutes more. But there’s a lot that we need to talk about.”_ Hidari cut in. “ _Like how that situation with your mother even came into fruition.”_

_“And how sorry we are,”_ Migi said.   _“Because we are so, so really, really sorry.  Super sorry. The sorriest…. You do know that right?”_

He paused before he spoke, making sure that he knew what he wanted to say. _“_ I do,” he told her.  “You were apologizing to me the whole drive back.  I heard your pain as I tried to silence mine.”

“ _I am sorry as well,”_ Hidari added.  Hanzo blinked twice, taking a moment to process her words.  It was rare that Hidari ever admitted that she had been in the wrong and even rarer that she dared apologize for it.  Migi apologized easily, her words always heartfelt, but Hidari was too proud to ever say the words. If she was actually apologizing, then she truly felt like she had been in the wrong.

“I accept your apology,” he told her slowly. If even she felt guilty about this situation, then maybe it was the least that he could to hear them out, even if it was before he thought he was ready.  They were ready and that’s what really counted, wasn’t it? This needed to be done. Better sooner rather than never.

“Alright, I will listen,” he told them.  “So tell me, what is it you wish for me to hear?

He could feel the buzz of apprehension between Hidari and Migi, as the two of them tried to work out which of them would speak first.

_“I didn’t mean for this_ -” Migi said.

_“You need to understand-_ ” Hidari said at the same time.

They paused once more and then tried again.

_“You have to understand_ -” Migi said.

“ _I didn’t ever wish this-_ ” Hidari stopped the same time as Migi.  With a nod of encouragement from her other half, Hidari tried once more.  “ _You have to understand that I never wished for the mental charade to go this far.  It wasn’t_ **_ever_ ** _supposed to go this far.”_

“And yet you let it.” Hanzo didn’t hesitate to point out.  “You left me clutching so tightly to this fantasy and you did your best to ensure that it never fell.  How was it supposed to never go this far when you never allowed it to stop?”

“ _It isn’t like that!_ ” Migi argued.  “ _Maybe a little bit like that, a teensy bit, but… we never wanted to hurt you._ **_You_ ** _blocked the memories._ **_You_ ** _wanted to forget._ **_You_ ** _decided the memories you wanted to have.  You needed to, to survive. All we did was_ **_let_ ** _you.”_ _  
_

Hanzo frowned at her explanation.  While it sounded plausible, he didn’t like that possibility.  If he had forgotten that, then what else had he done and hidden away in the recesses of his mind?  What else would he block out and replace? Why couldn’t he forget the worst thing he had ever done to the one person who had been on his side?

“ _You cast aside what others had done to you, wanting to forget how their actions hurt and how they didn’t care,”_ Migi answered. “ _But you won’t let yourself forget what you did to Genji.”_

_“Not that we would let you,”_ Hidari interjected.  “ _Not that one.  That one needs to be remembered.”_

_“You don’t need to forget anymore, young master.  You’re not a prisoner any longer.”_

Hanzo briefly mulled over her words.  “Was I a prisoner? I lived there. I was their child.”  Part of Hanzo still missed the familiarity of the castle.  He had spent all of his childhood on those grounds, with those people.  While he hated them, he knew he did, the words had gotten caught in his throat.  Could he mean it when there was a part of him that didn’t?

“ _In that environment, where they have no say or choice about their own life, how could a child be anything but a prisoner?”_ Hidari countered.  “ _You know how they treated you, what they did to your body, mind, and soul.  Speak from the reality you know and not the one you craved; can you honestly defend them again?”_

“No, I-...” he paused once more only briefly this time. “I don’t suppose I can.  But they were all I had. Was it so wrong to want to belong with those bastards, to seek affection?”

_“What child wouldn’t want a family to love?_ ” Migi said.  “ _What child wouldn’t want a family to love him?  They were all you had for years. It wasn’t wrong to want, young master.”_

“They were all I had…” Hanzo said numbly.  “Do you think that our mother ever loved me?  Do you think she meant it when-”

“When she took care of you after the fight?  No.” Hidari answered, already knowing what Hanzo was going to ask.  “But they knew that you longed for her approval. You’d do anything for her, unquestioningly, eating, drinking, talking as she bid you to in your haze.”

“ _Do you remember it differently_?” Migi asked.

“ _Or do you not remember it at all_ ?” Hidari finished.  “ _There is something you need to remember, young master.  Close your eyes_.”

Curious, though dreading the outcome, Hanzo shut his eyes tightly and tried to remember what had happened during the worst time of his life, a time he tried daily to forget.  Perhaps it would be for the est if he tried to recall this one thing, the only time his mother had tended to him herself -

_Drink up, would you, kasu?  You haven’t eaten a thing for days.  You’re beginning to worry the elders, saitei.  Why are you taking so long to recover from this?  It’s not as if you were laying there, dying on the balcony, like my son was., murderer  So do something for your mother and eat, Tsukaenai, so I can leave. I don’t want to look at you and waste my time for any longer than I have to, Sukuwarenai yatsu.  Eat. They need you to rest,_

She had said, moving the bowl closer to his limp form, tilting his head back and pouring the hot liquid down his throat.

_I don’t know why they wanted a kichigai like you and not Genji.  Eat, dammit. The soup tastes good, doesn’t it? I made it just for you, Omounai yatsu.  Good, good, take another sip. That’s it, Ochikobore. Sleep. They need you alive, Sukuwarenai yatsu, so sleep tight. That’s it. Close your eyes.  Like that. Finally. Now they can fix you right up, however they see fit, without you putting up a fuss. A haircut, a good grooming, a cut here, a cut there, some more bandaging, a fitting or two, and some putting you back in your place where you forget you belong, and soon you’ll be back on two feet in no time, leading the clan, just like they want, however they want.  What a waste of time. Sleep, Doudemo ii yatsu, I’ll come by tomorrow and see if you bothered to survive. Shi’ne.”_

Before, when this moment had appeared in his nightmares, it had only been brief flashes of different scenes; her beside him, a hand brushing his hair off of his face, a cool cloth on his fevered head, and the like. He had never heard how cruel her words had been, never recalled the pure hatred in her eyes.

Perhaps those moments were all that _he_ had been able to remember of that time.  He had been grieving, injured, confused, and had finally begun to realize just what the clan had done to him.

That had been the memory of her that he clung to the most, for it was one of the only few direct interactions that he ever had.  That was the only time she had taken care of him herself. That was the only moment she had seemed to love him. And it had been nothing but a lie.

The only reason that he could finally see how ugly she had been had to be Hidari and Migi.  Not once before had he ever remembered her speaking; her mouth had been moving but there had never been any words.  His dragon must have remembered what was said, and how it was said, and pulled from her own memories to show him what he needed to see.  Most memories of his time back at the clan should be memorable one way or another, but there was almost no chance that he would have recalled _that_ moment with such stellar clarity.

Normally, at the realization that his dragons had been manipulating his thoughts, he would be pissed.  But he had seen how his mother thought of him for himself, and the memories that he had recalled himself were more than enough to confirm the accuracy.  Something still bothered him, though. If they knew all of this prior, especially about his mother, then why did they allow him to put himself in danger for her?

“You’ve always hated Kyoko.  Always. I never understood why until now, but-” Hanzo paused, his fisted hand pressing against his lips as he debated his next question. “You’ve known all of this for years.  So why let me walk so blindly into a lion’s den thinking it is full of kittens?”

“ _You are nothing if but stubborn_ ,” Hidari said.   _“If we had told you the truth, and what to think, then you would never have believed us.  Not fully. You would have always been questioning if it was the truth or not, loathing that we told you what to think.  This way, letting you go and see for yourself, you were allowed proper closure at last. No doubts. No second-guessing. Just peace with your decision, peace you deserved.”_

They had him there.  He despised being told what to think.  Deep down, if they had dropped this bombshell, he would have always resented the delivery and the forced acceptance and wondered if they were telling the truth.  This way, he was forced to acknowledge the truth, leaving nothing left to wonder. There was closure to be found. Closure - he was starting to discover - that he was beginning to appreciate more and more.

Still, there was another question that had to be asked.  “Then why protect the disillusion for so long? Your ‘letting’ me forget?” he asked. “Why not let it fall prior?”

“ _Would you have believed it if it did?_ ” Hidari asked.

Would he have?  Or would he have thought it was nothing more than dark nightmares and denied and numbed with alcohol?

“ _And you were already so depressed.  And then you were starting to get happy.  You were starting to enjoy life and become your own person_ .” Migi added wistfully. “ _There never seemed to be a good time to tell you and… ruin all that.  How could I ever do that to you?_ ”

“ _I couldn’t._   _Why upset the balance that you finally had?_ ” Hidari added.   _“I was so proud of how you’ve grown.  Why would I stunt it and risk you loathing me, especially when when I was the only friend you had left?”_

“I could never loathe you.  Never.” he told them. “But why now of all times?

“ _Because you needed to know the truth,_ ” Hidari continued, “ _And you needed to stop living a lie, so that you can live something better.  There’s someone else out there that needs you as much as you need him; you can’t be there if you’re stuck living in the past._ ”

“So now what am I living exactly?  Kyoko’s affection may have been a lie, but it was a nice memory to have, false or not.” Hanzo said. “But now that curtain is gone and now I know that there is nothing left for me from my past.”

“ _Rarely does the past reveal treasure when it is dug up.  Be thankful you’ve buried yours and will waste no more time with those ghosts that do not deserve you._ ”

“That’s not what I meant.  I meant that I have no family left.  They all either are dead, they hate me, or they _should_ hate me.”

“ _That’s not true._ ” Hidari reminded him.  “ _Not exactly. Though it depends what you consider me for one thing.  Am I family, friend, or nothing more than a parasite using you as my host?_ ”

“I was mistaken.  You are family to me.  And a friend.” he told his dragon, with a nod.  “You’ve almost always been by my side, even when I don’t deserve it.  You raised me, substituting as best you could for a family that wasn’t.  You have given me so much and-” he paused, frowning, recalling their cut-off conversation during the fracture.  It was a memory from many years ago, but for him it had only been a few hours since he re-experienced the event.

“ _What’s wrong?_ ” Migi asked him.

“We’ve spent years working together as one and I don’t even know your name.” he explained hastily, “You nearly told me one time but you were cut off-” Bad choice of words. “-...I never thought to ask for it.  That was terrible of me. I’m so sorry.”

“ _There is nothing to apologize for.  It was scary time for all of us._ ” Migi replied.  “ _You named me, young master.  Both of me._ ”

“Not that.  Your **true** name.  The one you had before you-” he paused, eyeing the two halves.  “Were _you_ and _you_.”

“ _Ah_ .” Hidari caught on to his implication.  “ **_That_ ** _name._ ”

“Yes.  I asked, but you were attacked before we could finish introducing ourselves.” he waited for any sort of reaction from them, either positive or negative.  He received none, so he continued. “If I may ask, what was it?”

“ **_Aoi_ ** .” the two halves spoke in unison, the sound harmonic perfection. “ **_My name was Aoi._ ** _”_

“ _But that is who I am no longer. I am someone new now, someone different. Two halves of the same whole_ ,” Hidari said, using the phrase of endearment Hanzo had for them.  “ _I am but Hidari now._ ”

“ _And Migi!_ ” Migi continued on for her.  “ _I have changed.  We both have. But it is a waste of time to miss who I was.  It’s better to appreciate who I am and to look forward to who I can be._

_“It’s impossible to fight change.”_ Hidari told him. _“Welcome it, appreciate it, run towards possibilities instead of away from them, and you will find great things waiting for you along the way_.”

“You’re saying to forge on ahead, despite all that has happened, aren’t you?” Hanzo mulled over her words.  “That by forging on ahead, I will find a way to complete myself?”

“ _You are complete_.” Migi told him.

“A complete mess.” Hanzo murmured under his breath.

His mumbling did not go unnoticed.  “ **_That_ ** and more.” Hidari added.

Migi ignored their interruptions. “ _You are a complete person.  The pieces are there. You just need to put them together.  You’ve grown so much already. I know you can do this, Hanzo.”_

But…Oh.  Do you think I’ve grown?” Hanzo asked sincerely.  He didn’t see how he could have. How could a mistake like him ever grow into something better?  “Do you really think I’m better than-”

_“Yes.”_ Migi didn’t let him finish his question. _“Yes.  You are better than you were before.  You are better than all of those before you.  No question.”_

“Even better than Genji?” Hanzo inquired, immediately regretting the question as it passed through his lips. It was a stupid question.  He already knew the answer.

“ _I said_ **_before_ ** _, Hanzo_ ,” Hidari answered.  “ _Not after._ ”

That was a fair answer, even if it was a bit disheartening to hear.  Hanzo knew it was the truth and he could hardly argue it. Despite the progress thus far, Genji still beat him by miles, even according to his own dragons.  They had always liked Genji, though; he had never been anything but kind to them when they interacted.

Save for one, crucial, stupid, selfish encounter that was all Hanzo’s fault.

“So I’m better than my father, then?” Hanzo asked.  That wasn’t quite as easy to accept. His father had been a good man.  Hanzo still didn’t quite fancy himself as good. Not yet.

_“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?_ ” Migi pointed out.

“What do you mean by that?” Hanzo asked, his brow knit tight.

_“Your father died as he lived; bound, held hostage by custom alone_ ,” Hidari added.  “ _You have loosened those bonds, made them ready to shake off once you're ready for the last chain to fall._ ”

“ _You’re free,_ ” Migi said.  “ _You just… need to learn to accept it.”_

“ _And appreciate it,”_ Hidari added.

“I do appreciate it.  I do. Really.” he said.

His dragon sensed his hesitation.  “ _...but?_ ” Migi prompted.

“But I can't accept it. Not easily.” he admitted. “It feels like a gift I don't deserve.  A grand prize from a lottery I never entered. It should have never been mine.”

“ _But it is yours.  Don't waste it._ ” Hidari said.  “ _Much suffering took place for this opportunity to even arise.  It would be foolish to waste it. And you are no fool.”_

Hanzo chuckled softly.  “Liar,” he said, tilting his head her way.  “I am a fool, one of the worst, and you know it.”

“ _Well, that depends.  What kind of fool is the worst?_ ” Migi asked.

“One with a sharp sword, a dull wit, the right kind of drive but the wrong kind of motivation,” Hanzo answered.  “That kind.”

“ _Going by that definition, you were a fool, then, and you are not still one_ ,” Hidari said. “ _Though you were never dull.  Only blind._ ”

“ _And deaf_.” Migi added.

“ _And mute.”_

_“And your nose didn’t smell right either.  Whatever that word is.”_

_“Anosmia”_ Hidari informed her.

“ _Oh, no.  He slept fine.”_ Migi replied with a shake of her head. “ _Too much, actually.  That was one of his only few friends.”_

“So I’ve had quite the improvement, then, yes?” Hanzo replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.  “Ah, look at _how_ I’ve _grown_.”

“ _But you have improved?”_ Migi said softly.  “ _You have.  Ever so much.  Really. Really really.  Even if your sleep schedule is still terrible.  You just don’t see how you’ve grown because you’re looking forward, towards who you want to be, and not back at how far you’ve come.”_

Hanzo laughed darkly.  “I suppose running out of siblings to murder does make room for growth.”

“ _Oh, stop that.  You have improved._ ” Hidari scolded.  “ _Personally, I consider a fool one who thinks he has done no wrong and can be no better. Men who deny the truth, who walk into the storm but believe it sunny.  Men who shut the blinds and paint the walls of their cage with only the pictures of what they want to see. None of which describes you.”_

“So you two think that I’m not a fool?  Fantastic. Does it even matter when I’ve only made it to here?”  Hanzo asked, his hand gesturing vertically in front of his chest, reminding them how low he ranked on his self-imposed goodness meter. “I’m not a good person-”

“ _Not yet_.” Hidari cut in.

“I’ve still so far to go to be as good as-” Hanzo paused, licking his lips nervously as he stalled his mouth from continuing with his thought.  They knew who he was going to say. He didn’t want to have this discussion any longer.

Migi and Hidari shared a knowing glance, but still, Migi prompted him forward. “ _As good as?_ -”

With an annoyed huff, knowing that they wouldn’t leave him alone about this, Hanzo finished the thought.  “As good as Genji.” he clarified. “I’ll never be as good as him. I’ll just forever be the “Not Quite” of the family.  Not quite good enough. Not quite there. I-”

Hanzo paused as a harsh voice hissed venomous words through his brain.  “YOU _are wasting everyone’s time with your whining.  Why must everything be about_ **_you?_ ** _”_

Hanzo’s jaw shut with an audible click as the guilt of the situation fully washed over him.  He was wasting everyone’s time; his, his dragon’s, McCree’s, everyone’s. Wouldn’t it be for the best if he just shut up and lived with his guilt as he deserved?  Talking things out like a reasonable person was dumb and a waste, just like him-

“ _Considering where and how you were raised, I think you’re doing better than expected,”_ Hidari said.  “ _You were raised in a twisted world where honor meant more than morals, and blood was a currency to pay off the elders.”_

“ _They didn’t even let women guard the grounds.  In this day and age, can you believe?_ ” Migi added. “ _It was men or omics only.  How backwards can you get?_ ”

They may have grown up together in a backward clan, but… “But Genji is quite a ways forward-”

“ _He had a head start.  You will get there eventually._ ” Hidari said. “ _It is unreasonable to declare there be a winner between summer and winter when one was always meant to start at the beginning, and the other at the end. Nothing stops the seasons from each getting their chance to shine.  Your time will come, winter._ ”

“ _Without Genji’s help and his taste for rebellion, I doubt we would have gotten very far anyway,_ ” Migi said.  “ _Don’t be jealous because of what he has, Hanzo, be thankful he decided to share with us at all._ ”

“ _He’s the reason you’re free._ ” Hidari reminded him.  “ _Because you didn't know to look around and question the only life you had known until you killed your brother, your only friend, and you finally realized how lonely you really were._ ”

That fight had been the linchpin of Hanzo’s breakaway from the clan.  Losing Genji and getting shut in by the clan had been the wake-up call that Hanzo needed.  The fight had been life-changing for both of them, in so, so many different ways.

And some of them, not so different.

Hanzo had mentally begun traversing down memory lane, but before he tripped too far down into that pit, a voice snapped him back to the present. “ _Are you angry that Genji fought back_?” Migi asked him quietly.

The question caught Hanzo off-guard, and he had to think for a long, long moment, eyes locked on to his boots as he avoided the intensity of Migi’s earnest stare.  Was he? His mouth opened, clicked back shut, and then opened once more as he finally responded.

“No, how could I be?  He would have never laid a hand on me if I had not-.  I cornered him like a catcher on a stray dog, and what mongrel wouldn't bare their fangs, sink their teeth into, and rip through flesh and bone to cripple the hand of death itself, trying stave it off for just a while longer?  No. I am not angry at him, nor do I curse his name anymore. His reaction was just, and that's how I shall treat it; justly.”

The fight had been fierce and they had both suffered because of it.  It would be easy to be angry at Genji if he were to look at it shallowly.  He knew that his anger lay with the clan itself, for how they set up this match, for how callously they treated Genji’s death, for how they acted after.  There was no reason for him to be angry at Genji.

None, despite what that damn voice in the back of his back kept telling him to think.

Genji was the reason that Hanzo had ever gotten himself free from the clan’s clutches.  His brother could have run away at any point, leaving Hanzo to his fate, but for some reason, he saw Hanzo as someone worth saving and worth risking his life for.  

What exactly he had seen, Hanzo had no clue, but he was doing his best to be someone worthy of that belief.  He wasn’t close, but it was the best he could do. At least he was trying. That had to be enough, didn’t it?

His best had never been enough before, but this time it was different.  It was Genji he was dealing with. His brother had always been far too kind to him, even when Hanzo didn’t deserve it.

Hanzo leaned his head back against the wall and sighed.  Genji had always been too good to him. Far too generous until his late teens, where he grew tired of always being the one to play nice and finally began a proper rebellion.  When he was younger, though, he’d find ways for them to spend time together, always making sure that he and his brother had equal treatment, as best he could, as hard as that was.

There was one particular memory that stood out, one bright spot in the midst of the terrible memories that Hanzo was forcing himself to remember.

“Do you remember- I don’t know if you do, for you two were recovering from the fracture-” Hanzo paused awkwardly, regretting reminding them of that fact.  They didn’t seem to be bothered, though, so he continued. “Do you remember the times that Genji came to visit us back then?”

“ _I remember bits and pieces.  There are blanks, but what I can recall is clear._ ” Hidari reminisced, glowing just a hint as the happy memory came to mind.   _“Always admiring, wishing for a dragon of his own, not yet understanding how you became bedridden because of it.  Such a sweet boy.”_

“ _He’d always compliment our scales and hue_ _and he would sneak us food, and reach in and pet our snouts when you grew too tired to entertain him, Hanzo_ ,” Migi added wistfully.  “ _How could I ever forget a child like him?_ ”

“He’d smuggle in bowls of ramen for us to eat together, once I was allowed to eat real food again, lying about how hungry he was so he would get two.  One for him and one for me.” Hanzo remembered, smiling softly at the memory. “He’d sneak into the room and just talk with us, about anything. Anything to get our minds off of the pain and loneliness.  A ball of sunshine in an otherwise dark room.” Hanzo bit down on his lip, the smile falling as the memory turned dark. “He was all I had in this world, and I nearly killed him.”

By all means, he _had_ killed him.  He had taken away the life Genji had known, mutilating him until the only means of survival was a mechanical body encapsulating what little organic pieces were intact.  By all means, Hanzo had taken away the life Genji had had. It was only by the skin of their teeth that the two of them had ever been given a second chance.

But did Hanzo really deserve his?  He wasn't so sure.

Genji did.  He had done plenty of small, kind, unwarranted acts that earned him the karmatic-fueled redo.  He deserved a second chance at a happy life. Hanzo didn’t.

And it wasn’t even _his_ life he was living now.  He had adopted a new persona and he hid behind it.  He hid his face, his body, and his name behind the mane of the wolf.  This wasn’t Hanzo’s life he was living, it couldn’t be, it was too decent for a man like him.  He was living in a dream world that he didn’t even deserve to dream about, falling in love with a man that hated who he really was.

Oh, yes, McCree flirted with him, but he only desired the man he thought Hanzo was.  He loved Okami. Not Hanzo. This fake life of his was all meant for Hanzo’s false identity to enjoy.  It wasn’t for Hanzo. It never would be.

If McCree found out who he was and what he had done, it would be all over.  He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

Hanzo had to keep him interested without diving too far into the deep end of secrets.  Keep him entertained and enthralled so he wouldn’t get bored, but in the dark, so no truths they weren’t ready for would come to light.  Keep him close, but at an arm’s lengths. It would be an awkward balance to maintain, but as long as McCree was letting him set the pace, he was sure he would manage it.  

This would be a piece of cake compared to the balancing act back at the clan.  Why wouldn’t it be? It was only McCree he had to keep happy. Only McCree he had to keep in the dark.

Or he could run now.  Run away and never look back.  Disappear and live the sad, lonely life he had before _._

His dragons weren’t as on-board with that idea.

“ _You_ **_get_ ** _to be happy, Hanzo.  You’re allowed to be.”_ Migi said.

No, he wasn’t.

_“Why are you so scared of being happy?”_ Hidari asked.  “ _It’s right there.  Grab it. Take it. Claim it as your own.”_

He didn’t deserve him.  Didn’t deserve this. It was selfish of him to think otherwise.

_“You think you don’t deserve him?”_ Migi asked

_“Then_ **_earn_ ** _him.”_ Hidari continued.

_“Make him fall in love with the man hiding behind the pelt of the wolf._

_“So that if he finds out who’s behind the mask, he’ll think twice about what sort of man Shimada Hanzo is.”_

_“And think twice about what kind of man he wants to become when you are at his mercy.”_

_“Because you would never fight back, Hanzo.  Not against him. Not even if your life was on the line.”_

_“So win him over and make sure you’re never put in that position.”_

That sounded all good and well and like a solid plan.  McCree didn’t betray friends. He was too loyal. If Hanzo gave him a reason to be loyal, then he was sure to be safe if his identity was found out.  McCree might not be too happy about learning who Hanzo was, but he wouldn’t kill him if they were friendly, would he? There was only one problem.

“Earn him?  Win him over?” Hanzo asked his dragon.  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

His dragons said nothing, the conversation they had wanted to have finished  Hanzo tiredly sat on the floor, gritting his teeth as he tried to figure out just what the hell he was supposed to do now.  How did he earn himself a McCree? It wasn’t as if there was some sort of coupon where ten good deeds were redeemable for a mail-in order of cowboy.

A knock, one meant to announce a presence rather than ask permission, had his eyes snapping open, and he turned to see who dare disturb him.  McCree stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His arms were crossed over his chest and he surveyed Hanzo’s form with nothing more than a quirk of a brow.

“You, ah… manage to work through your _thing_?” Jesse asked slowly as he cautiously entered the room.

Hanzo was silent, staring up at Jesse in thought, his chest rising and falling with puffs of breath.  Was Jesse who his dragons meant?  Was this supposed to be the ‘someone else’ he still had?

No.  No, it couldn’t be.  Jesse wanted him dead.

But, yes.  Yes, it had to be.  Hanzo really didn’t have anyone else.  It had to be McCree.

Of fucking course it did.

“O?” he asked, grabbing Hanzo’s attention once more.  “Let’s head up to the room. That sound good?”

Hanzo knew it was best not to stall.  If he said that he hadn’t worked through things, not exactly, then McCree would insist that he finish up.  Knowing how courteous he was, he would offer to extend an ear and hear Hanzo’s problems out. If Hanzo didn’t take him up on the offer, which he couldn’t, then McCree would be agreeable and let the matter drop verbally.  He’d always be watching, though, trying to figure out what the matter was and whether or not he could help. Hanzo would do what was necessary to keep his secret hidden.

“Yes,” he said, unable to look McCree in the eyes as he stood.  The burn in his thighs was but a dull simmer. “I’ve worked through it, mostly.  Enough, at least. You and I should go back to the room now.”

Walking over to the gear he had haphazardly stripped off, Hanzo began picking up the pieces.  Heavy footsteps and quiet jingles told him that McCree had breached the area.  Hanzo was reaching for his chest plate when it was ghosted away by Jesse, who was busying himself with helping scoop up Hanzo’s gear.

Despite his urge to snap at Jesse for grabbing his things, as if they could possibly give away his identity by touch alone, he kept his mouth shut.  It could be suspicious if he reacted like that. Just stay quiet and don’t draw any more attention to himself; that would be his plan. It was the only option he had.

McCree managed to whisk away most of the bigger pieces of his armor, shifting the bundle under his arm.  He probably knew that Hanzo had exhausted himself and that he needed the help. The assistance would be nice, if undeserved.

The rest of his suit in hand, Hanzo turned and, without a word, headed towards the doorway.  He paused at the exit, staring at it, waiting for the scraping of metal to cease, signaling that Jesse had managed to jumble the pieces into a something he could carry easily.  The cowboy’s long legs let him quickly cross the room and he was by Hanzo’s side in a heartbeat.

“Alright, let’s mosey on up to the room, darlin’.” McCree said, looping an arm over Hanzo’s shoulders.  Hanzo bristled at the touch, at the sensation of his utterly soaked shirt being pressed into his skin. He hated it, and he quickly ducked out of McCree’s reach to make it stop.

“Don’t touch me,” Hanzo said, holding a hand up and putting a stop to any other attempts at touching him.  His nerves were frayed and body oversensitive. The last thing he wanted right now was for anyone, especially Jesse, to touch him.

As the words left his mouth, it occurred to him how unnecessarily cruel they sounded.  It was probably nothing more than sticking a bandaid on a stab in the back, but, to soften the blow, he did add, glancing only briefly at the hand that had reactively reached for him. “I’m sweaty and disgusting and I’d rather you didn’t.  Please don’t.”

“Sounds to me like you're in a mood for a shower,” McCree said, finally letting his arm fall by his side.  “Maybe lay down for a while after. That could be good for you too. Was for me. Took a shower, laid down, started some homework for tomorrow’s infiltration, and then wandered around looking for you.”

“You didn’t have to stop working on the plan to fetch me, McCree,” Hanzo replied.  “This is nothing more than a waste of your time.”

_You are nothing more than a waste of McCree's time,_ the voice taunted him.

“Ain’t a waste at all.”  McCree paused, waving Hanzo through the doorway,  “Sides, You’ve been working through everything in here for a while now.  Figured it was about time for you to take a break.”

Ah, that “figuring” of his explained why McCree wasn’t giving him much of a choice in the matter.  He hadn’t once asked if Hanzo wanted to go back to the room. All he had done was tell him it was time to go.  There hadn’t been any options, only orders, for his mind had already been made up.

Hanzo despised being told what to do.  He had been fine with joining Jesse until he was told that it hadn’t been his idea, then he loathed it.

But as much as he wanted to rebel and stubbornly stay put, for no other reason other than making a point, he didn’t.  To make a scene would raise suspicion nd would make it harder for him to “earn” McCree. He would have to pick his battles carefully.  This wasn’t one that he wished to take part in.

Hanzo led them back up to the room, the walk mostly silent, and stood by the door as McCree unlocked it and held it open for him.  “Your bag’s over there by the wall,” he told Hanzo. “I just dropped it off as I walked in the door.”

“Thank you.  I appreciate it.” Hanzo said, moving towards his case, he flicked it open and was relieved that everything was still neatly packed, a sign that his things hadn’t been gone through.  It was easy to repack his armor, slipping in even the larger pieces McCree held with ease.

While he had the case open, Hanzo snatched a handful of clothing to change into after he showered.  There were a few shirts in his grasp, thrice as many pants as he would need, but he would sort through it all later.  His only concern right now was washing all of this grime and sweat, all the terrible day, off of him.

Clothes in hand, Hanzo stood and turned towards the bathroom.  Before he entered the room, McCree called out, making him pause.  “Hey, O?”

“Yes?”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?  Won’t judge you for a whit of it.” Jesse said. “You got something on your mind, you can just tell me.”

Hanzo’s brow knit tightly as he listened to McCree.  It would be nice if he could talk this out. If it wasn’t McCree who he was worried about, then he could work out at least parts of his situation.  He couldn’t though, and he gave a small, inadvertent shake of his head as he reminded himself that that was impossible.

The motion did nothing to comfort McCree.   “Don’t go mute on me, babydoll, please don’t,” he begged. “I want to work whatever’s going on out with you if you’ll let me.”

Hanzo’s stony expression twitched, guilt flooding his system once more as it dawned how much he had scared McCree, but he only cast him a brief glance.  Any longer of a look and his resolve might shatter like glass. “I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said. “If I have anything else to work through, that is.”

McCree straightened up in his seat.  “I’m not sure what kind of fool you take me for, but I ain’t stupid, O.  Something’s still botherin’ you, an’ I don’t appreciate being lied to.” he told Hanzo, a small frown on his lips. “Punchin’ a bag’s good for burnin’ off anger, but it ain’t a substitute for actually dealin’ with the problem.”

Lips drawn in a thin line, Hanzo stared at McCree.  “I’m not certain of your point.” he said quietly.

“I respect you enough to know that it’ll take more than a good workout to get over something that’s botherin’ you this much.  You’re not that simple; you’re more complicated than that. And I hope you respect me enough to know you’re not foolin’ me a bit.”   McCree said.

“I respect your opinion and you but I assure you that I’m fine now.” Hanzo told him.  “Believe it or not, exercise is cathartic for me. It has always worked. It is what I know.  You needn’t worry any longer. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Before McCree could reply, Hanzo entered the bathroom and shut the door tight behind him, muffling any further conversation out of existence.  He didn’t want to talk anymore. Didn’t want to think. A shower would be a nice way to try to relax, or at least wash the grime and sweat off of his body, if nothing else.

His dragons wisely stayed quiet, opting to muffle any present concerns.  They allowed Hanzo time to relax, time to clean up, and, most worryingly, time to think about what the hell he could possibly do about the hell he had dug himself into.  

It was inevitable that McCree would discover Hanzo’s identity.  He couldn’t hide it forever. It wasn’t possible. McCree was too clever to try to work around him like that.

And if he couldn’t hide forever, then he had to do something to make sure that he _was_ still on McCree’s good side when discovered.  That, or he’d better be ready to run.

McCree knew that Hanzo was hiding something now.  That wasn’t ideal. Despite how much Hanzo tried to deflect and reassure McCree that there was nothing to be concerned about, Jesse wouldn’t take the bait.  He wanted to know what the problem was and he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied.

Hanzo paused, musing on that bit as he lathered up his torso.  What if there was a way to satisfy McCree before then? If he sated Jesse, then he would stop hunting.  How did he sate him, though? And that quickly to boot? What did McCree want from Hanzo?

He was in the middle of shampooing his hair when the answer struck him like lightning.  

Jesse didn’t want something _from_ him.

Jesse wanted _him_.  

McCree had made it painfully obvious that he was eager, though not pushing, for sexual activity.  He hadn’t ceased with the flirtations and pet names this whole engagement, what could that mean other than he was ready for intercourse?  Why would he use them otherwise?

There was his answer.  If he gave McCree what he wanted, then Jesse wouldn’t think to want anything else beyond that, especially not any sort of answers to anything.  Why would he look for answers when he would have forgotten the questions?

It would be easy.  Hanzo had been taught how to seduce targets, and he had been successful many times in the past.  This would be no different. Easier even. He had an, albeit extremely vague, idea of what McCree’s fantasies were.  All he had to do now was enable them. Once he had them started, he’d let McCree take control and get exactly what he wanted out of Hanzo.

With that seductive idea in his head, and his legs starting sting a bit, Hanzo stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.  Drying himself off, Hanzo began picking through the clothes he had grabbed, seeing just what exactly had he brought in with him to change into.  There was a black, long-sleeved undershirt, the yellow long-sleeve, and-

Whatever else there was didn’t matter.  The yellow one, the one Jesse had gifted him, that was the one he would wear.  McCree had said that he loved how it looked on Hanzo It had to be the yellow long-sleeve.

The pants were an easy choice; he went with a simple pair of sweatpants.  Not only were they comfortable, but they would be easily pulled down, allowing access front and back without the hem having to dip too far beyond his hips, and they wouldn’t disrupt any flow either way.  He tucked the pants’ hem into his boots, ensuring that his laces were tied tightly, near too tightly if one was honest.

Once he was dressed, he looked in the mirror and tied back his hair.  With that out of his way, he reapplied a liberal layer of eyeliner. He didn’t give a damn that it was late and he would sleeping soon, inevitably smudging it all over his face; Jesse had complimented the liner on multiple occasions, and if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be sleeping much at all.  

As he neatened up the wings of the liner, Hanzo couldn’t help but wonder how it played into McCree’s fantasy.  Did he admire it aesthetically or did he dream that the sweat of sex would make it run down his cheeks?

Believing he was finished, Hanzo moved towards the door as he pulled a mask on, but stopped.  He glanced towards the mirror once more and twisted his lips thoughtfully. With a quick swipe of his fingers, he tugged a lock of his bangs loose.  

Jesse had made it clear that he had a fondness for that particular piece to hang loose.  It would prove prudent for Hanzo to ensure that his looks met McCree’s expectations. The less Jesse had to adjust Hanzo to match his fantasy, the more receptive McCree would be to getting seduced.

Satisfied, Hanzo finally exited the bathroom.  The bedroom was starkly chilly compared to the warmth from the shower.  Despite Hanzo’s quiet footsteps, his presence was realized as McCree glanced his way from the bed.

“You feeling any better?” he asked carefully, looking up from the laptop that topped his lap.

“Yes.  Immensely.” Hanzo replied, his mind racing as he tried to map out a plan.  The intent would be too obvious if he came on too hard, especially after their last conversation; subtlety would ensure his success on both fronts.

“I find that showers have the power to wash off more than just dirt n’ sweat,”  McCree commented idly, his attention turning back to the screen. “Kinda therapeutic that way.”

“I find they're more therapeutic when there's someone in there to converse with, to help work out the knots, both mentally and physically personally,” Hanzo replied, casting McCree a glance out of the corner of his eye.  Did he catch the implication?

Judging by how his body froze, his head shot up, and how he looked Hanzo's way, he caught it.  Now that he had Jesse’s attention, he best continue and reel him in.

“Perhaps, next time, you could be that someone.” he finished, casting a coy look McCree’s way.  “I’m sure the two of us have… _plenty_ we could work out together _.”_

Jesse’s intense stare was locked onto Hanzo's form.  “Yeah, we do…’ he said slowly, pushing himself upright.  He gently set the computer down next to him on the bed and swung his legs over the sides.  “Lemme see how your hand’s doing, O. And then maybe you go ahead and make yourself something to eat.”

Hanzo obliged him, sitting obediently at the table that McCree motioned towards.  Jesse retrieved the medical supplies and then sat down opposite of him. With careful fingers, he gingerly removed the old, soaked wrap and looked over the cut.  It was healing painfully slowly, mostly because Hanzo kept reopening it, too busy to give his hand the rest it needed to properly heal. With a soft, affectionate tut and shake of his head, McCree set to rewrapping the wound.

Hanzo’s face burned with shame.  He hadn’t intended to disappoint.  The wound actually healing was, ironically, out of his hands.  But that was no proper excuse, was it?

There were so many other things he could have done, he knew that.  The blame lay entirely on his shoulders. He just wished that McCree would just come out and say just _how_ disappointed he was.  Different levels brought different repercussions, and all Hanzo wanted to know was what kind to expect.

McCree didn’t elaborate, though, instead silently wrapping the cut.  It was odd, the man not speaking a word. It caused Hanzo’s gut to churn and there soon came a point that he could stand the silence no longer.

“I can handle this,” Hanzo said, trying to pull his hand away.  McCree had a tight grip on his fingers, one that grew near bone-crushing as Jesse kept Hanzo’s hand in place.

“I know you can, sweet pea,” Jesse said casually, his words far softer than his grip. “But I want to help.  Can’t be easy having to bandage your own hand, y’know? And I just wanna make sure that you don’t lose any more blood.  Seems like you get knocked out real easy from it.”

“You needn’t worry about such things.  I've managed things like this before.” was Hanzo's quiet reply.  Though, that was only out of necessity. It wasn't easy to bandage his own wounds, but it would be preferable to having to bother someone else about it.

McCree raised his brows, glancing between Hanzo’s hand and his face.  His nimble hands paused and he looked Hanzo square in the eye. “Would you like me to stop and let you do it?” He asked.  “I won't be angry if you do. Just give me a hard yes or no, O. Do you want me to stop?”

Hanzo thought about the offer.  McCree sounded disappointed at the prospect, though he did his best to hide that.  And perhaps some help would be nice. Maybe letting him help would appease McCree somehow and help get Hanzo back into his good graces.

Hanzo’s efforts to pull free ceased.  “No,” he said quietly, averting his gaze from McCree's.  “I’m not sure I could manage as well as you can. Please continue.”

“Sure you could manage.  But I’m always happy to give you a hand.” McCree lips quirked into a soft grin.  “Especially since you’re kinda short one right now.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.” Hanzo idly watched McCree’s eyes squinted affectionately at the quip before he resumed his work. “I only wish that it would heal, if only so that I don’t have to keep bothering you with this,” he said, watching as McCree finished rebandaging his hand.

“Ain’t ever a bother, sweetpea, but I know that my mama always had this little trick that seemed to make my boo-boos heal up real fast.  Lil’ bit of sugar. Want me to try it here?” McCree’s smile betrayed his straight delivery, but intrigued Hanzo nonetheless. He knew that McCree’s mother had passed early in his life.  What sort of trick could his mother have passed on to a boy so young? And how did sugar of all things factor in? Did they even have any pure cane sugar in the room? Maybe a small packet or two, perhaps.  Would that be enough?

“If you wish,” Hanzo replied curiously.  It would be useful to have a trick like this in his repertoire if he could find a way to duplicate it, let alone manage it.  Seeing it in action would help his eventual implementation.

With a mischievous grin, McCree gently cradled the back of Hanzo’s hand.  He carefully tilted Hanzo’s palm, raising it as he lowered his head and closed the gap between them, and then pressed his lips against the ball of Hanzo’s hand.

The kiss was soft and chaste, so light that if Hanzo had not been watching he might have missed it.  Jesse adjusted his grip, pausing and giving Hanzo time to pull away, though he didn’t, couldn’t, how could he?  With the silent permission to continue granted, Jesse then tilted his head and allowed himself better access.

His lips trailed higher with affectionate kisses lingering on his overly-sensitive palm.  His eyelids were half-lidded, a clear sign of content, and he glanced up at Hanzo through his thick brown lashes.  He chuckled softly, most likely at Hanzo’s beet red face, before he gently flipped his hand over, carefully intertwining his fingers with Hanzo’s.  With one last, lingering kiss being planted on the back of his hand, Jesse laid Hanzo’s hand back down on the table and leaned back in his seat.

“Maybe that lil’ bit of sugar right there’ll help you out some.  We’ll have to wait and see.” McCree pat the back of Hanzo’s hand affectionately and then stood, moving back towards the bed.  “Now get yourself something to eat.” he reminded. “Don’t think you’ve had a bite since morning.”

Right.  Food. Yes.  Maybe. Of course.

Those were things that Hanzo might have said if he could have spoken properly.  The only reply he could offer was a loud, surprised exhale. The sensation of soft lips and rough whiskers still tingled on his palm, and between that, the dizzying flush of crimson lighting up his cheeks, and his heart absolutely racing in his chest, he found it difficult to speak.  Evidently, his reply was somewhat satisfactory, judging by how McCree tried, and failed, to stifle a chuckle.

As much as Hanzo had adored the moment, as much as he knew that he would treasure it and replay it in his mind for no less than two weeks after, he couldn’t help but feel as if it had gone wrong, and he hated himself for even feeling this way.  

He hadn’t reacted appropriately to the opportunity.  He had frozen, losing the chance to take advantage of the flirting.  It had been right there, laid on a silver platter, and he had messed it up.  Of course he had. It was all he ever did.

His plan was to seduce McCree, and it wouldn’t play out properly if he was the one getting caught off-guard and swept in so easily.  He had to focus, analyze and determine what Jesse wanted from him, and take advantage of the present tension between them. He had to.  There was no other way.

But did he ever hate himself for the line of thinking he was forcing himself to traverse through, treating McCree like a target more than a person.  It was a necessary evil, though. His bed had made long ago, and now he just needed to ensure that, tonight, he wouldn’t be lying in it alone.

He finally stood, absent-mindedly making his way towards the mini-fridge.  A quick cursory glance told him that there was no meal that would settle the nervous churning in his gut, nothing to calm the guilt manifesting through internal chaos, so he chose something simple.  He had picked up some instant rice packets. Their original intent was for using them in conjunction with something else for a hearty bowlful of dinner, but just plain white rice sounded the most appetizing out of all the available options.  As long as he was pleasing Jesse, one way or another, it would be enough. It had to be.

Two minutes of microwaving later, his rice was ready, needing only a pinch of salt before being ready for consumption.  He grabbed his bowl carefully and then turned back towards the room, wondering where he should go to eat. The bathroom?  The corner? What would Jesse tell him to do? If he could predict it, it would help him to get further on Jesse’s good side.  Or, maybe, he’d find it more satisfactory for Hanzo to obey whatever he suggested? It was difficult to hazard a guess when he didn’t even know how Jesse wanted him.

This would be much easier if McCree was far less gentlemanly.  At least the brutes back in Arizona made it explicitly clear what they wanted.  All Jesse had given him was one hint back in the laundry room and Hanzo had blown it.  Selfishly.

_Why are you so_ **_selfish?_ **

Hanzo knew that he was never going to win.  No matter where he picked, it would be wrong.  It would be for the best if he let Jesse decide, at least then one of them would be happy.  That was more than Hanzo could do on his own. If he made his own decision, he was bound to be mistaken.

**_You_ ** _are the_ **_mistake_ ** _._

“Where do you want me to eat?” he asked quietly.  He was inconveniencing them yet again. Selfishly.  It was all he ever did. “The bathroom? The corner?”  With nothing but a dash of lost hope and seasoned with only the salt of tears never cried?

Jesse made a sound of remembrance, picking up the laptop up out of his lap and planting it on the bedside table.  “M’apologies. Forgot you don’t osmosi your food for a second and that the mask comes off,” he said, turning his back to most of the room.  “Sit wherever you like. Wherever comfortable. Just let me know when you’re done so I know when I can move without scaring you none.”

“Of course.  Thank you.” Hanzo said in reply, his heart sinking.  In almost every joke there was a grain of truth. Was it too much of a stretch to imagine that the truth lay in wanting Hanzo’s mask off and tiring of having to work around it?  Hanzo couldn’t appease him that, way, though, the mask had to stay. It was but one safeguard between Jesse and the truth.

As Hanzo set his bowl down, he cast a slow glance back towards Jesse’s form.  His long legs hung over the edge of the bed, turned just enough so that they didn’t collide with the bedside table.  His knees were parted wide to ensure he was balanced while he leaned over slightly to continue his work on the computer.

Hanzo stared longer, his hand briefly toying with his mask before he left it alone, his mind racing with too many thoughts.  Jesse’s legs were open enough for Hanzo to slip between, allowing him to manage near anything that Jesse could have wanted. It was the perfect opportunity this seduction to truly begin.

It wasn’t the ideal start, and he didn’t _want_ to do this, but Hanzo had to do _something._ He had to make up for all of his shortcomings, all of the time McCree had wasted on him.  Otherwise he risk losing McCree forever.

Ditching his bowl on the table, for his stomach would rather he didn’t eat prior, Hanzo quietly made his way over to McCree, carefully dropping down to his knees in front of him.  From there, Hanzo was unsure on how to proceed and he immensely regretted not planning this out further.

Did he initiate?  Was he supposed to?  His hand twitched before he let it fall back to his side.  

No.  Jesse seemed to prefer taking control of certain situations.  This could be one of them. Hanzo rested back on his leg, but then flinched back upright.

What if this wasn’t one of those situations he liked taking control of?  Then Hanzo should be the one to initiate. His hand moved a few inches this time before he let it fall once more.

Was it even proper to initiate?  Or was it rude too? He hadn’t asked about this sort of thing.  It was improper to commence without any sort of consent. Prior consent from another time didn’t count for the now. He sat back down and then shot up once more.

He had to do something.  This was a prime opportunity for _something_ to happen, he couldn’t just let this one slip by too.  It would be idiotic not to do anything. His hand made it chest level before it paused and the fell back by his side.

What would he even do?  A hand job? That was hardly the most seductive thing he could do.  A few flicks of the wrist wasn’t enough of a trade to woo McCree out of wondering about him.  But he could hardly commence with a blow job, for he couldn’t remove the mask.

Maybe Jesse could come on his mask and work out some of his frustration towards it?  But then Hanzo would have to _wear_ the mask from then on and that didn’t sound all too pleasant.  Demanding that Jesse cast his eyes skyward while Hanzo mouthed at his member would hardly make for an arousing scene.

What was he even doing here, down on his knees?  There was nothing that he could do, nothing to be done.  Besides that, McCree seemed to have no interest in guiding them into something sexual, not anymore.  Was Hanzo down on his knees, and ready to please, not part of his fantasy? Or had Hanzo blown all of his chances already?  

That seemed plausible.  Hanzo could hardly tolerate himself anymore.  It was too much to ask someone else to.

Though Jesse not necessarily wanting Hanzo in a submissive style was good information to be aware of, it lead to a new predicament.  If he wasn’t going be stuffing his mouth with penis, which was fine by him because he was growing too anxiously queasy to find the prospect enticing, then he best be using it to come up with a legitimate reason for his legs to give out conveniently in front of McCree.  Besides the obvious excuse. He needed to come up with something soon, like now soon, before McCree looked down here and asked if-

“Everything okay?” Jesse interrupted Hanzo’s racing train of thought.  That was fine though, it was due for derailment soon anyway. If not by McCree, then it would be the least Hanzo could do to put it out of its misery.  It was on a fast track to nowhere.

“Fine!” Hanzo said both too quickly and too loudly as he leaned back in panic.  What did he say now? What could he do? Nothing. Nothing either way. How the hell was he such a moron?

“You, ah-” McCree’s eyes roamed up and down Hanzo’s kneeling form.  “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

“My boot was uncomfortable and I needed to adjust it,”  Hanzo responded immediately, his immediate response slicker than any more thought-out reply he could have had.  Had his boot been uncomfortable? Hell if he knew. All that mattered was finding some way to save whatever little face he had left.

“Okay.” McCree licked at his lips thoughtfully and gave a slow nod.  “Any reason you needed to adjust ‘em over here?”

Now _there_ was the real question.  Why on earth did Hanzo need to adjust his goddamn boot in the small sliver of the room that McCree was facing, as opposed to literally _anywhere else._

Damn it, damn it, damn it, think, think, think, _think, damn it._

“I…” Hanzo’s eyes flicked up towards the bedside table, trying in vain to remember if he had set anything over here that he _needed_ at right this moment.  He himself hadn’t put anything there, but there had been a complimentary notepad placed by the hotel.  So now Hanzo needed that notepad more than anything. Clearly.

“I wanted the notepad,” Hanzo said slowly, his verbal speed increasing as his new-found certainty grew.  “I was walking over here to get it when I realized something was wrong with my boot. Something I am fixing now.” He stiffly hiked his leg up and rested on a knee while he toyed the tongue of the boot, desperate for something to fix without going to the effort of removing it. He settled for a deliberate untying and retying of the laces.  There was nothing else that he could do.

“I kinda… took the notepad.  ‘M using it to make _notes_ about the, ah, lab we were gonna, uh, hit tomorrow.” McCree admitted, watching as Hanzo fiddled with his boot.  “But if you don’t mind me tearing out some pages to use, you’re more than welcome to it.”

Ah, here Hanzo was inconveniencing everyone on this goddamn planet yet again.  Selfishly. Why was nothing _easy?_ Why did he have to ruin everything he touched?

“I- No.  Nooo. Don’t.” Hanzo said with an exaggerated wave of his hand.  He didn’t want to disrupt McCree’s workflow, especially not for something as stupid as this.  Still, he needed his excuse, and he would cling to it like a gecko on a wall, no matter how flimsy and stupid it was.  “I just- You could tear out a page? That’s what you said, yes? Just tear, uhm, one, ah, yes… _one_ page out for me.  That’s all I ... _need_.  That’s… that’s it.”

“One?  Yeah, sure, I can-  That’s completely doable, just gimme a sec-” McCree flipped a few pages in to ensure that he found a blank one and then carefully coaxed the page off of the flimsy seam.  He held it out to Hanzo. “Here ya’ go. Sure that’s all you want? Need a pen or anything?”

Hanzo took the page from him as he stood.  “No, thank you. That’s it. I’m… _Positive_.  Thank you.” he said, turning towards the table.  “I- Go now. Go eat. Over there. Away. Thank you.  Goodbye.”

He walked back towards the table and sank back into the seat.  His wide eyes were glued onto McCree’s back as he slowly peeled the mask from his face.  It was how he caught the sight of McCree’s hair rustling as he shook his head, his shoulders barely shaking from heavily suppressed laughter as he held in the inevitable mocking that Hanzo deserved.  He was free to laugh at him; it didn’t prohibit him from fulfilling his promise of looking away.

What had that display even been?  Nothing short of an utter embarrassment.  A performance so poor that his only payment was a useless piece of paper, one he even had to beg for.  He wanted to scream, but to do so would only make things worse. He couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed. It never had been.

The paper was thrown onto the table in disgust as Hanzo slowly began eating.  His appetite was near non-existent, chased off from feelings of shame, anger, and guilt.  He had to eat, though. He had promised he would. It would do them no favors if he were to renege on such a promise so small.

Between small bites of rice, Hanzo tried to plan his next move. Something else, something more, had to be done. It was difficult to know how far he could push the ruse and intimacy without knowing how much Jesse knew about the former Shimada heir.  He said he’d recognize a face, so removing the mask was out. Did he know of the tattoos decorating his upper body? Would he recognize them on sight? Did he know of the reports detailing the damage done to his body by the clan? Would he recognize him for what they had done?  Did he know of the clan’s logo? Would seeing the white tattoo tell McCree who Hanzo was? It hadn’t prior, but now that they had walked onto the clan grounds, would that be enough to jar his memory?

He didn’t know.  It was hard to plan when he didn’t.  There was no way to plan out the course the evening needed to take, no way to plan the flow of clothing being stripped away, no way to have excuses ready to stem the flow for pieces that had to stay put.  How did he manage this seduction when the very basic essence of seducing, nudity and body exploration, where no longer on the table?

Unless…

Hanzo chewed thoughtfully as he surveyed Jesse’s sturdy form, his back turned to the rest of the bed.  What if he could take advantage of McCree’s limited vantage points? Keep him facing that way as Hanzo got to work giving him a night to remember?

Seduce him slowly from behind and, when the time was right, reach around him and - he was wearing a belt, wasn’t he? - remove the belt and unzip his jeans.  That would give Hanzo plenty of access where he needed. If they made it that far, it should be a cinch to get him down on the bed, bent over and resting on his knees, and he would know how to handle himself from there.  He had had enough practice with targets prior to know that, with proper execution, this plan would not fail.

His hands had busied themselves while his mind was occupied, taking the stupid piece of paper and folding it into an origami butterfly.  When it finally registered what his hands were doing, he looked down, not expecting much and still finding himself disappointed. The paper wasn’t right for this sort of endeavour, with the folds coming out more crude than crisp.

He surveyed it, holding it up and analyzing what he had absentmindedly made.  It wasn’t necessarily _bad,_ the folds and shape were right, and it was easy to tell that it was supposed to be a butterfly.  To someone else, it might even been a good attempt, but for Hanzo, it wasn’t good enough. And because it wasn’t good enough, wasn’t perfect, there was no point in even keeping it intact.

Carefully, he unfolded the creation seam by seam, making a shallow attempt to smooth the wrinkled paper out with the palm of his hand.  Try as he might, the wrinkles forever tainted the formerly pristine page. He left the paper on the table, unwilling to bother with it anymore.  There were more pressing issues that required his attention.

Finishing up his small meal, Hanzo stood, grabbing the disposable bowl and throwing it away on his way to the bathroom.  He shut the door behind him, clapped his hands over his mouth, and bent over to smash his face into the small towel on the counter, all to muffle the long scream of frustration and embarrassment he had been stifling for his whole meal.

The sound never crawled out of his throat.  He must have swallowed it up, along with all the others over the years, damning it to the realm of all the screams never had.

Giving up on getting it out of his system, he dared cast his eyes upward, meeting his reflection’s gaze.  He surveyed himself, debating what he could do to heighten his chance of success. Regaining his confidence would be a first good step.  No more waffling, no more second-guessing. He had a plan and, if followed to a T, then everything would be fine.

That plan was the only chance he had for some semblance of normality in his life.  It had to work.

“You will go out there and you will seduce the target, just as you have been trained to,” he said to his reflection, his voice but a murmur as he spoke to himself in the manner he was accustomed.  “You know how. He is no different. It is a simple task, Hanzo. Do not fail your orders yet again.”

There was a pause when he registered the stern words that had left his lips.  Had that really been him speaking? Was McCree really nothing more than a target now?  No. No, he was more, and that was why this was so difficult. But since the feeling was mutual, it shouldn’t be too hard to fuck all of Jesse’s concerns and questions into the back of his mind.

So it was no matter who that had been speaking through Hanzo; those words were the truth.  Failure was not an option.

_Keep him happy, keep him close._

_But not too close._

He layered a decent amount of toothpaste onto his brush and began cleaning his teeth.  It was an idle, practiced set of motions. It would be easy to keep planning, and thinking far too much, while he freshened up.

He just had to motivate himself into fulfilling his role.  Remind himself that there was no reason to worry. Bolster his confidence and then never let his mind wonder if he was in the right or not.  There would be no downsides to this coupling. No reason to doubt himself.

He just had to keep reminding himself that.  

Once his teeth were brushed, Hanzo got to work on cleaning up his now smeared eyeliner.  McCree had said in the past that he was bespelled by it, so it would be in his best interest to ensure that it was perfect.  A stroke of red on top of the black, a look that had also been complimented, was sure to help win him over.

He dampened a washcloth and rubbed it over his lips, to ensure they were smooth, that there wasn’t a hint of dry skin to be found, as he debated his next step.  What else had McCree commented on in their time together?

The jacket.  He wouldn’t want him wearing the jacket at all, not even unzipped.  Back at the laundry room he had said that it was nice to see Hanzo sans the coat.  Removing it would also help show off the yellow shirt he had loaned him. Seeing a piece of his clothing on Hanzo should prove attractive if prior opinions were to be believed.

Stripping the jacket off, he folded it and placed it on the counter, surveying himself one more time.  This had to be perfect if it were to succeed. A minute more of preparation would do no harm.

His hair was alright, with that lock Jesse like to pull free already hanging over his face.  His eyes were stunning, and they had to be for everything else would be covered. His clothes were the best they were going to be given the options.

He took a moment to breathe, to calm himself down and ready himself for the mission.  The target should be easily swayed into compliance considering he had professed an attraction on numerous occasions.  The plan, if executed perfectly, would ensure a guaranteed success.

Finally, replacing his mask once more, Hanzo walked out the door, back into the room with his target.  Jesse’s back was still turned as he was busy scribbling some notes onto the pad beside his computer. Perfect.

Hanzo silently climbed onto the bed behind him, Jesse only noticing his presence when the mattress dipped, if the raising of his head was anything to go by.

“Hey, sugarbean, you done?” he asked, still facing the wall.  His question was only a slight disguise for his actual inquiry _“are you covered back up?”_

“Done?” Hanzo asked in a low purr, maneuvering right behind Jesse, “I haven’t even gotten started.”

Hanzo kneeled behind him, parting his legs to flank Jesse’s hips with his thighs.  His hands trailed up Jesse’s upper back, kneading at his shoulders. They were so tense, the man could do with a nice massage.

“What’re you doing?” Jesse asked quietly, his hand shifting towards the desk, where his laptop and pistol lay.

“Something I’ve been looking forward to trying all night.” Hanzo purred, his fingers making easy work of the knotted muscles.  Why was McCree still so tense? That was the opposite of what a massage should do. Why hadn’t he loosened up by now? And why was he reaching for his gun?

_Did he know?_

_He knew._

McCree let out an uneasy breath, his fingers ghosting along the metal of his pistol.  “You’re not getting ready to kill me or somethin’, are you? Pick back up on that bounty you were chasin’?” he asked.  “‘Cause you could at least give me a chance here if that’s the case, sweetheart.”

“What?” Hanzo asked, his hands pausing for a brief moment of confusion before they resumed.  “No. No, no no. Never. That’s not-. No, I don’t want to kill you. I _want_ you, Jesse.”

Hanzo had expected McCree to react with joy at his confession.  Part of his had hoped the man would just be ready to submit once he head that.  What Hanzo hadn’t expected was for McCree to question him about this.

“Want me to what?” Jesse asked suspiciously.  That was frustrating. He was taken this entirely the wrong way.  And why did he have to doubt Hanzo about this? Sure Hanzo wasn’t want to go this far yet, and his fucking fake-out was fake as fuck, but it was positively _rude_ of McCree to question his insincere sincerity.  At least Jesse had taken stopped reaching for his gun.

“Shh, don’t act so coy.  You know what I mean. I _need_ you, Jesse.” Hanzo’s voice grew husky and deliciously low.  “I don’t want _you_ to do anything.  My only want for the night is to make _you_ feel so good that you forget your own name.”  And everything else that could possibly be on his mind.

Jesse seemed to finally understand Hanzo’s goal,  and he leaned back into the touch, finally relaxing.  “Well, I guess if I gotta forget someone’s, it’s gotta be mine.  Sure as hell don’t know yours.”

The words were said lightly, as a joke, but were they?  Were they a joke? Or was this another attempt to pry information out of him?  Oh, if that were the case, then Hanzo was going to have to move along much quicker than he thought.

His hands worked on Jesse’s shoulders for only a minute more before they dipped back down and looped under his arms, around to his front.  Jesse’s dissatisfied hum at his shoulder rub being cut short was swiftly replaced with a quiet thrilled gasp as Hanzo got to work unbuttoning his shirt.  His hands worked carefully, slipping each button free until Jesse’s torso was completely exposed.

Hanzo trailed his hands along his body, his fingers finally exploring the valley of chest hair that had teased him back at the laundry room.  He followed the trail downward, feeling the thick, corded muscles of McCree’s torso, from his shoulders down to his jeans. Whenever he felt the divots of his scars or occasional protrusions of gashes overhealed, then his journeying fingers would pause of their way, taking a moment to trace a fingertip along the marking.  Slowly, sight unseen, he was mapping Jesse’s body out, committing it, and the spots that made Jesse groan in contentment, to memory as best he could.

And as excited as Jesse’s breathing had grown, simple fondlings weren’t going to keep him satisfied.  There was such a terrible limit on what he could accomplish while keeping his face and torso hidden. Unless….

“Can I blindfold you?” he asked Jesse, his voice but a soft purr as he affectionately butted his face into McCree’s neck, “Cover your eyes and let other senses feel and explore for a while?  I’d love to-”

“I-ah.  Sorry, pumpkin.” McCree said, slowly looking back over his shoulder at Hanzo, pausing to plant a soft kiss on the side of Hanzo’s head  “Ain’t really a fan of blindfolds.”

Ah, damn it, that would make things trickier.  No matter. This was about Jesse. Whatever made Jesse happy.  Anything for him. Anything.

“That’s fine,” Hanzo assured him, pausing his exploration to cup a hand against Jesse’s chin.  He turned Jesse’s face back towards the wall. “Just keep your eyes there and don’t turn back. Promise me.”

“My gaze’ll stay forward, I promise you.” Jesse said excitedly, his hand now resting Hanzo’s right thigh.  Hanzo twitched at the sensation of his fingers lightly squeezing at the muscles, but let it stay. It didn’t bother him much.  Yet. Not so long as the touches were light and his hand stayed put where it was. He was the one seducing McCree after all, and not the other way around.

His hand moved down from Jesse’s chin, his fingers carefully caressing his throat and upper chest.  His other hand paused its exploration to reach back and tug his mask down to his chin before it resumed its teasing.  The burst of cool air on his face should have been refreshing, but all it did was remind him how uncomfortably warm he was.

Licking his lips nervously, Hanzo leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on the back of Jesse’s neck.  He felt the man shiver at the sensation, but his free hand threading into Hanzo’s hair and keeping him there was a silent permission to keep going.

So he did, the soft kisses giving way to small nips at the back of his neck, his tongue darting over the marks to soothe the sting.  One hand continued to roam alone Jesse’s body, slowly moving south, the other toying with his lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hanzo asked in between kisses, his hot breath and low voice causing goosebumps to rise on the back of Jesse’s neck.

McCree’s answer wasn’t immediate, for the quick breaths “Oh, honey, I feel so good I can’t even speak.”

“Good.” Hanzo murmured, his lips skirting towards the side of McCree’s neck.  His fingers slid along Jesse’s lip, silently seeking permission. “I had a different use in mind for that mouth of yours.”

Catching on to his request, Jesse parted his lips, letting two of Hanzo’s slender fingers slip inside.  He happily sucked on the digits, his tongue swirling around them as he helped slick the fingers up.

With Jesse distracted further, Hanzo’s free hand grasped at the leather belt clasped around Jesse's middle, seeking the buckle while he continued kissing up and down the man’s throat.  The sensation of cool metal underneath his fingers was somewhat jarring, like ice to his burning body, a chilly reminder that the buckle was the only difference between casual heavy petting and actual sexual contact.  He wasn’t ready for this.

But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself.  This was about Jesse. As long as Jesse was happy, then he would find a way to manage.  Sex was sex. He had had it before. He could have it again.

“You, ah, want me to take care of that buckle for ya’?” Jesse asked teasingly, his hand resting on top of Hanzo’s.  “S’tricky one.”

“No.  No, I’ve got it.” Hanzo told him as he placed a gentle kiss into the crook of his shoulder.  He fingered at the buckle, absent-mindedly attempting to strip it off. Leaving a trail of kisses up along McCree’s throat to his jaw, Hanzo began lightly nibbling at his earlobe, tugging softly when he heard McCree try to fight back a moan.  The sound was music to his ears and he grew momentarily distracted with trying to experiment with what had coaxed that beautiful sound out of McCree.

After a moment, after McCree swirled his tongue around his fingers once more, it dawned on to Hanzo that he had yet to finagle the buckle off of Jesse.  His fingers slid around on the slick metal, desperately trying to wrap his mind around how to remove it, sight unseen. It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t it make sense?

Perhaps his difficulty stemmed from attempting this one-handed?  Letting go of McCree’s ear with his teeth, for this seemed to require his full concentration, he pulled his fingers free from McCree’s mouth, a soft pop indicating their freedom.  Now he used both hands on the buckle and yet on it stayed. His heart rate sped up as his planned interaction began to fall apart. This should be easy. Why was it so hard? He pressed himself closer to McCree, his face buried against his neck, as if proximity was the sole reason that he was struggling.

“You doing alright there, sweetheart?” McCree asked.  Hanzo paused, giving a startled, heavy huff into McCree’s back.  Why was Jesse asking that? Why wouldn’t he be alright? When would he be?  Why was this all falling apart so quickly?

McCree was supposed to be forgetting that he ever had any questions.  He wasn’t supposed to be asking any more.

In an effort to regain some control of the situation, and to try to get his plan back on track, Hanzo tried to slip his slickened fingers down the front of McCree’s pants while he unbuttoned the front of McCree’s shirt, but, despite how he strained, he could only just brush the tip of his middle finger against the base of McCree’s length.  This wasn’t going to work.

He entertained the idea of just unzipping McCree’s fly and trying to jerk him off that way, but, again, the belt and buckle would make it too tight to be enjoyable.  The damn buckle had to come off.

And come off it would, one way or another.

Quickly yanking his mask back up, Hanzo placed his hands onto McCree’s shoulders and threw him backwards into the bed.  McCree could only gaze up at him as Hanzo straddled his hips, staring down that damn, _damn_ buckle.

“Babe-” McCree started, but Hanzo cut him off with a sharp hiss.  He didn’t need any pity, he didn’t need any help. He would handle this.  And then the plan would be back on track. And everything would be fine. It had to be.

Despite being able to view the buckle, Hanzo wasn’t having any success.  His fingers danced clumsily along the metal. His attempts at unhooking this damn thing growing too frantic to ever work.

Somehow, it the midst of freaking out, he finally managed to unhook it somehow.

And then, somehow, in the midst of freaking out about that and what he should do next, he manage to rehook it again somehow, undoing everything he had just struggled for.

_Failure,_ the voice in his head taunted, _you’ve failed again; What. A. Surprise._

Why was he such a failure?  Why could he not even initiate intimacies properly?  This shouldn’t have been that difficult, but then he began panicking and it all fell apart right before his eyes.  This hadn’t been the plan. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen at all.

No.  No no.  His hand balled into a fist as he made his resolve.  He wouldn’t let this fall apart. He forbid it to. This _had_ to go right, otherwise he could lose McCree.  If he didn’t give the man the **_one_ ** thing he wanted from him, then why would he ever stick around?

McCree tried to speak up again.  “O-”

“No,” Hanzo growled, refusing to meet Jesse’s eyes as he glared at that stupid, _stupid_ buckle.  “No, I’m-... This is going to happen.  I- This-”

“Okami-” McCree’s next interruption sliced right though the last piece of restraint that Hanzo had left.  All the emotion he had been holding in bubbled over and he snapped.

“No! Just-” Hanzo’s teeth were tightly clenched together, his face twisting into an exasperated grimace.  Tears of frustration began stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back. He didn’t cry.  He never cried. To show such emotion was to be weak.  In this moment, where he had to be strong, there was no room for such a pitiful display.  Even if he himself _was_ the pitiful display.  “Why won’t you let me _just do this for_ **_you_ ** _?”_

He punctuated his plea with his fist slamming onto the bed, just to the side of McCree’s hips.  It wasn't a purposeful motion, he didn't even realize what he had done, it was just a consequence of his anger peaking beyond what he usually stifled.

“Oh.  You want to do something for me?” McCree asked, taking a sweeping glance along Hanzo’s form, his hips dipping into the bed as he tried to arch them away from Hanzo’s fist.  “Well, I got, ahm, a frisky lil’ move in mind, if you don’t mind indulging me.”

His request was music to Hanzo’s ears.  Following an order, especially one of McCree’s request, would be far more successful than trying to keep this paper-thin facade from tearing any further.  “Anything. Anything for you.” Hanzo replied tiredly, his voice but a whisper. Anything to make him stay. “Just tell what to do and it shall be done.”

McCree was quiet for a moment as he stared up at Hanzo, a moment too long for Hanzo who could only listen to his heart pounding in his ears, but then he finally spoke.  “Lay down and slide your arms under my shoulders.”

Hanzo paused, wondering if the command was actually as clear-cut as it sounded.  What sort of move was this? Slide his arms under McCree? Just like that? Was that what he really-?

“C’mon, honey. Easy as it sounds.” McCree coaxed, his low voice as thick and sweet as honey.  “This lil’ move here’s called the, ah, Japanese Finger Trap, and trust me when I say that this will _rile_ you right up.”

Finding no further reason to debate the logistics of this move, and frankly too frazzled to, Hanzo complied with McCree’s vision, slipping his arms under McCree’s warm torso.  Their chests were flush and the contact was dizzyingly delightful. Hanzo was starting to see the appeal of this move.

Instead of voicing the next step, McCree simply reached around to Hanzo’s backside and maneuvered it so that his back was flat instead of arched, his other hand coaxing his thighs to inbetween McCree’s.  Their groins were rubbing right up against each other’s now. Was this some sort of clothed frotting? Was that what McCree was wanting?

If so, then so be it.

The prosthetic arm looped over Hanzo’s shoulders, holding him close.  The organic hand threaded it’s way through Hanzo’s hair, and McCree’s legs slid up as he planted his feet on the bed, putting them in prime position to grind.  Getting the message, Hanzo reciprocated and did his best to meet what he thought were the expectations of this move.

He was wrong about the expectations, though.  Entirely wrong.

All too fast, McCree wrapped his legs tight over the back of Hanzo’s thighs.  His back arched, trapping Hanzo’s arms underneath both of their weights and in some kind of grappler’s hold.  Realizing that he was being restrained, Hanzo tried to push up and away out of this situation, but that damn metal arm was locked into place, holding him fast.  Shoving against it was like trying to push a wall away. It wasn’t going anywhere. Hanzo was stuck.

Like hell was he going to accept this situation without a fight.  With an angry hiss, Hanzo managed to turn them enough so that he could yank his left arm free, and then he tried to use it to get leverage to force the metal arm back.  He didn’t have enough power, not with his thighs being pinned so awkwardly.

Strangely enough, though, despite being restrained, McCree was doing nothing beyond holding him down.  A hand was still on Hanzo’s head, massaging gently, the lithe fingers working down towards the back of Hanzo’s neck.  

Why?  Was this a subtle attempt to strangle him?  It would be a slow death. Extremely slow. So slow that passing from natural causes would be faster.  Why be so slow and subtle after this obvious restraint?

Befuddled by the situation, Hanzo’s fight stilled as he tried to analyze just what the hell was going on.  Jesse’s voice cut right through that fog, startling him. “Who do you think you’re trying to fool?” McCree asked quietly, setting off a new wave of panic.  

_He knew.  He knew he knew.  He knew who Hanzo was._

Hanzo desperately tried to shove himself against the arm, but knew that it wasn’t going to work.  McCree had locked the metal joints into position, turning the arm from a flexible prosthesis to stiff as a lead pipe.  With the rest of his limbs pinned, it would be near impossible to overpower it.

Unless…

The dragons.  He could use them to overpower McCree and short out his arm.  If he grasped at the shoulder socket, he could send a strong current through McCree’s body, zap the joints, and get out of here.

He wrapped his fingers around his shoulder and grit his teeth as he tried to channel the dragons’ power and send a strike into the man beneath him.  The only problem was that they were refusing him. Why were they cutting him off from their power now?

Hanzo tried to concentrate enough to read the situation, to figure out what the dragons saw that he didn’t, and found that there was no malice, no threat, to be found.  Only the strong, heavy stench of disappointment hung thick in the air.

Was this a hug of some kind?  Was that all that this was? The strong arm wrapped around his middle wasn’t pinning him down, but holding on to him?  And the hand at his head wasn’t holding him down, but affectionately rubbing the back of his head?

This wasn’t an attack of any kind.  Why had he assumed it was?

Guilt.

He assumed that he had been found out for the horrible person that he was and that McCree had decided to take just actions.  What the hell could he have ever done in his life to earn a hug like this?

“Who am I trying to fool?” Hanzo asked, his voice quiet with shame.  He knew the answer, as did McCree. He only asked it to be sure.

“You’re not fooling me a second, O,” Jesse said, pausing to lick his lips, “I can tell that you’re not into this, not a damn bit.  I just don’t understand why you’re pretending to be. What are you getting out of this?”

The pit in Hanzo’s stomach dropped deeper as the disappointment in Jesse’s tone sunk in.  He thought Hanzo was doing this for himself? No. No, didn’t he understand? This wasn’t for him; it was for Jesse, so that he’d stay.  He was trying to _earn_ McCree.  Why didn’t he get that?

“I wanted to do this for you.” Hanzo said slowly, trying to find the words to explain.  “You've done so much for me and… I’m so selfish. I just take and take and take. I just wanted to do something for you for once in my goddamn life.  I know this is what you wanted from me so I thought-”

“You thought wrong, baby.   _This_ isn't what I want.  Not without both of us wanting it.” McCree replied.  “‘Sides, I ain't done anything that special for you. Nothing worth you… hurting yourself for me.”

“It wouldn’t hurt, not after a while.  I want this-”

“Don’t you lie to me.  This ain’t what you want, O.  This ain’t what I want. This ain’t bonding.  This is you-” McCree paused with a frown before he finished the thought. “-prostituting yourself  Playing and paying like a whore; I just don’t understand why.”

“How do you not understand why I want to repay you?” Hanzo asked, trying and failing to sit up in surprise.  McCree’s arm was still looped tightly over his shoulders, forcing him to have this awkward conversation right at horizontal eye level with McCree.

“Okami, you’ve already made it clear that, at this moment, you think I’m nothing but a fool with a dick for a brain.  Just treat me like an idiot one more time and spell out what the hell you’re trying to pull.” McCree said, his words sinking like lead in the icy pool that was Hanzo’s gut.  “Just so I know for sure what you mean. Humor me. Please.”

“You’ve been so kind to me.  Overwhelmingly so. Unnecessarily so.  You’ve done so much for me. And all I do is take.  I thought it was time to even out the ledger.” Hanzo confessed.  “You’ve made it clear where your interest lie. In what you eventually desired.  I thought you would enjoy your eventuals coming now. How did you know that I wasn’t in the mood?”

“‘Cause I’m pretty good at reading people?  ‘Cause there was no heart behind your actions?  ‘Cause you dropping down to your knees was suspicious as hell?  ‘Cause the minute you unhooked m’belt, you rehooked it without thinking?” McCree replied with a huff.  “There were signs. I just had to be willing to spot them.”  

Hanzo sighed tiredly, resting his chin on McCree’s chest and dipping his gaze down towards the pillow under their heads.  “At least I know now how you feel about... _us_.” he said tiredly. “If you adored me this would have worked flawlessly. You wouldn’t have been able to say to this, to me.”

“No, honey.  It’s because I adore you that it didn’t.” McCree said, sliding a hand under Hanzo’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet.  “If I didn’t adore you, and didn’t care about you, I would have said yes and let myself get swept up in this fantasy in a heartbeat, _us_ be damned.”

...Oh.

He then pursed his lips thoughtfully, drawing Hanzo’s attention lower until he spoke once more.  “You said that you were trying to even up the score between us, right? What exactly have I done that earned you acting like a wet dream come true?  For… future reference.”

Hanzo mulled over the long list for a moment before he replied.  “You’ve been patient with me. You give me time to think, and you _let_ me think.  You don’t consider my… quirks annoyances.  You’ve treated me: both nicely and with good food.  You not only ask for my opinion, but you respect it.  You haven’t asked me to change, you’ve somehow fallen in love with the man you think I am and, somehow, for far too long, you’ve tolerated me and I have no idea how.”  

Behind his mask, Hanzo’s lips curled into a sharp frown as he realized that hand that had been petting his head had stopped. His hand curled into a fist, grasping at the only thing available which was McCree’s loosened shirt.  “All I wanted was for you to tolerate me a while longer. Gone and fucked that up, haven’t I?” he sadly finished.

“No, you haven’t.  Not at all. You’re really an all or nothing type of guy, aren’t you?” McCree said half-jokingly. “All of that you just listed was nothing more than me being a decent human being, O.  You don’t gotta reward me for that.

No.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was a wonder, one that Hanzo never wanted to lose.  How did he not realize how wonderful he really was, and how that needed to be rewarded?  “You’ve bandaged my hand without compliant. You’ve backed me up in fights.” Hanzo took a quick, nervous breath and continued rambling. “You’ve always been there for me and I’ve been nothing but a selfish pile of incompetencies who doesn’t deserve you.  I’ve just been wasting your time for too long, fooling you into thinking I’m someone worthwhile and I’m not. I-”

“Who the hell am I speak to?” McCree cut him off sternly.  “‘Cause I am sure as shit that is not the Okami I know and adore talking to me right now.”

Hanzo knit his brow tight, trying to figure what McCree meant.  He had been the one speaking. There was no one else in the room.  Unless he meant _what_ Hanzo was saying?  But who else would say anything like-

_How could you be so selfish? You’re flawed, unlovable, and selfish. What have you done with your hair? It’s terrible. And that… thing on the bridge of your nose. It’s trashy. And what is with that shit caked around your eyes? And those clothes? Are you trying to become Genji? Because you will never be half the man he was. Who could ever love someone like you-?_

Kyoko.

The words that he spoke, diminishing himself, they were hers.  That unnamed voice that had been haunting his mind for years, taunting him, teasing him, and reminding him how unlovable and horrible he was, it was her.  It always had been. She had been tormenting him and poisoning his mind for years, even without being there, so much so that he had begun to believe her taunts more than he did his own thoughts.

Perhaps he remembered more of his cruel past than he cared to acknowledge.  Perhaps there was something more to be gained from looking forward and not back, such peace of mind.

McCree gave him a moment to think, waiting for Hanzo to snap back and meet his eyes once more. Hanzo finally decided on what he actually had meant to say, before his words had been hijacked. “You’ve been wonderful company.” he said, trying again, trying to get across what he had actually wanted to say.

McCree’s stare softened at the quiet reply.  “All that’s the minimum you should expect from someone you call a friend.  You don’t gotta suck me off because I treat me you right.” McCree drummed his fingers on the back of Hanzo’s head, pondering.  “I’d prefer you didn’t, to be honest. Would be a big waste of effort on your part, because that’s not how I like my sex.”

Hanzo spared a quick glance up towards McCree.  What did he mean by that exactly? Was he not a fan of handjobs?  How could he not like his sex this way?

“Sex is sex, McCree.  What does the method matter if the end result is always the same?” Hanzo asked.  “It’s all about the orgasm in the end, is it not? The brief rush of bliss. That’s all that sex is good for.  That, and bargaining.”

“That’s not all it’s-... Do you bargain often with sex?  Is that what you’ve been told to do with your body? That how you were raised?” McCree asked him.  “Oh, honey, no. You were bargaining for me, then? I ain’t worth that, buddy.”

“But you are, though.  To me, you are.” Hanzo replied.  “What do you want from your sex, other than that moment of release?  What else is there?”

“I- What else is there? Well, what I love is the emotions of two people sharing that very intimate moment and the closeness and making other people feel good.” McCree answered. “That’s what it’s all about to me.”

“I don’t enjoy being vulnerable.  Not in the slightest.” Hanzo replied.  “I pay people to let me do what I need on my terms.  I hate vulnerability. I hate being weak. I’ve experienced it and I despise everything about it.”

McCree hummed in acknowledgment. “What set this whole thing off, O?  This whole ‘ride the cowboy tonight’ crap? You’ve been twitchy and off all night.  I’ve never seen you like this before. What happened to you?”

Hanzo could have tried to lie.  His first instinct was to deny that anything about him was off.  It was what he had been taught to do; nothing was ever allowed to be wrong with the heir, neither physical nor emotional.  He could swallow down his feelings once more and choke on them, or he could admit that, yes, not everything was as perfect as Hanzo would have liked.

He couldn’t exactly admit _what_ was wrong, but this would be some sort of start, wouldn’t it?  And everything ever worth doing had to be started from somewhere, didn’t it?

“I… your eyes are sharp.  As you can see, I’ve not been having the best of nights.” Hanzo said slowly.  “There have been a lot of memories of my past and family that have come to light as of recently, ones that I shoved away for my sanity, and most of them unpleasant.”

“Aw, hell, flicks of memory like that ain’t never make for a good time.” McCree’s hand paused, his fingers just resting on Hanzo’s head.  “You’ve told me you grew up in what was basically a cult, right? What could have set you off-” The fingers twitched as a thought hit him.  “The Shimada lair. That was what did it, wasn’t it?”

Hanzo’s body tightened as the words left McCree’s mouth.  How on earth would he know that it was going back to the castle that had been the catalyst behind this mess of a night?  How?

Did he know who Hanzo was?  

No.  He couldn’t.  

...Could he?

McCree unconsciously tapped his hand on Hanzo’s head as he realized that was what had happened.  “That was it. You talked about being trapped back at that cult, held hostage by your folks so they could screw with you.  I ain’t surprised that walking into that fortress was like taking an unfortunate jaunt down memory lane. Shit.” McCree cursed under his breath, but Hanzo was close enough to hear the murmur.  “That would throw anyone off, I would figure. I’m guessing they're the reason that you think sex is a bargaining tool too.”

“It’s a good one, McCree, just not against people like you.”  Hanzo replied. “I just don’t understand why you enjoy being vulnerable.  I’ve been so goddamn vulnerable for so long, for so many times, I hate it.  I would never let anyone pin me down on my back, or restrain me, and I have no clue why you think so highly of it.”

“Yeah, didn't really take you for that kind of guy. That's fine, though, to each their own.” McCree said with a shrug.  “Don’t gotta put yourself out for someone else’s fantasy, y’know?”

His relaxed reply did nothing to placate Hanzo.  The burn of shame hit low on his gut, and he struggled to push himself upright.  Sensing how this mattered to Hanzo, McCree relented his iron arm’s grip just enough to let Hanzo properly look him in the eye.

“I still want to repay you somehow.  Something to even us out. I hate owing because I don't know how you'll come collect.” Hanzo said.  “Is there something that you'll let me do for you?”

“So that’s something you’re worried about?  A’ight. You want to even the ledger out right now, then there's three things I want from you.” McCree said.  “One, you swear to me that you ain't gonna go mute on me. I don't want to be on the receiving end of the silent treatment.  You or me got an issue; we work it out together, as best we can.”

“Done.  We will.  I won’t go silent on you.” Hanzo said.  He was certain that there was always something to talk about, even if it really was about nothing at all.  “What's the second thing?”

“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like this on me again.  Don’t you dare. If you an’ me ever do the dirty, we’re doing it right.”

“Understandable, it won’t happen again. I swear it to you. And the third?”

“Lay your head back down and stay like this with me for a while.” Jesse told him.  “This right here? S’right nice.”

Hanzo glanced down at the comfortable crook of McCree’s shoulder, already longing for its warmth.   But he couldn’t be serious, could he? This couldn’t be all that he wanted.

“ _This_ is all that you want?” Hanzo asked incredulously.  “To just lay here. Doing nothing? But laying here?  That is what you ask of me?”

“Why?  Too much?” McCree asked with a quirk of a smile on his lips.  He seemed more than happy to tease Hanzo about this. If he was so relaxed, then it had to be the truth, didn’t it?

“No, it’s not too much.  I just don’t think it’s enough considering how much that you’ve done.”

“It is enough.  You’re happy to be here with me?  Then I want nothing more.” McCree said, coaxing Hanzo’s head down to his shoulder.  “Because you’ve given me the most precious commodity in the world and that’s all I’ll ever need; time with you.”

Hanzo let his head be guided back down, but before he relaxed completely he pushed himself back up once more.  “You’re sure?” he asked doubtingly. “That’s it? I’m enough? How? I don’t understand why.”

“I don’t need you to understand _why_ .” McCree said.  “I just need you to understand that _you are_.  Can you do that for me?”

“For anyone else?  No. For you, I can try.” Hanzo replied as he finally laid back down.  This time he stayed relaxed as he let McCree wrap his arm over his back.  He still didn’t quite understand how this evened the score between him and McCree, but he would accept it without any further fight.  If was what he wanted, then so be it. He had accepted far worse than this.

McCree’s hand resumed its position on Hanzo’s head, loosely threading his fingers through his hair.  “You’re alright with this, aren’t you?” McCree asked.

“I am.   Too much so.” Hanzo replied, tilting his head and giving Jesse better access to his head.  “I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am. The hold is foreign, but not unwelcome.”

“Shouldn’t have to be so foreign to you.  Anytime you want a hug, just ask. I’m more than willing to give you one.” McCree told him, gently working Hanzo’s hair loose from the tie.

“I’m not going to ask to be coddled.  It’s unbecoming.” said the man that was becoming far too content with being coddled.

“You don’t have to ask for a hug, O,” McCree replied.  “Just say you’re cold or something, and I’ll be right there to warm you up.” he paused a moment.  “Speaking of chilly, you want your jacket or anything? Want you to be comfortable, sugarbean.”

“No, I’m fine, Jesse.  You are enough to keep me warm.” Hanzo replied, finally relaxing against Jesse.  His eyes had just started to drift shut when he became aware of eyes staring down at him.  He glanced up, his gaze meeting McCree's, and he waited for McCree to say what was on his mind.  When McCree offered no explanation, Hanzo had to pry.

“What is it?” He asked Jesse.  “What does that look mean?”

“I'm not trying to give you a look, baby, I'm just-” McCree sighed and laid his head back against the pillow. “You've talked about so much with me.  You've told me ‘bout your folks, ‘bout crappy upbringing, ‘bout your doubts and fears and shit, and now there's something that's so troubling to ya’ that you're bottling it up tight.  I'm just worried about what it might be.”

“I'd prefer it if you didn't worry.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.  It's just who I am. Watching the world fall apart all around makes a man wary of the smallest tremor of trouble.” McCree said with a shrug. “But for your sake, I’ll try to stop.  Emphasis on the _try._ ”

“Please do.” Hanzo said to Jesse, burying his face into the crook of his warm, warm neck.

Now that things had slowed down enough for Hanzo to ponder over everything that had transpired, his contentedness quickly morphed into shame.  It was frightening to think about, now that he had calmed down enough to process everything that had taken place, how quickly his first instinct was to suffer to try to make things better.

He had been taught that his body could be yet another bargaining tool, filling in the cracks where rough intimidation and sheer power could not overwhelm.  It was yet another angle to try, to ensure success for the clan. Why did it now only dawn on him how sick it was? Why was it that, now that arms held him tight and honeyed words were dripped into his ears, he finally realized how cruel his past had been?

That was it.  There was no reason for him to mourn what he had lost back at the castle.  What he had truly lost was a mere nothing at all. The sweet, sugar-coated fibs he had told himself, the ones that made him long for the past, he would just have to let dissolve in a tall glass of reality before they rotted his brains from the inside out.

All he missed was the thought of a caring family.  A thing that had never existed. How did one let go of lies so soothing, even if there was nothing of substance to them?  Lies that were born from freedom and lessons Hanzo had never been allowed to experience.

McCree would know how to be rid of them.  He always had brilliant advice waiting to be coaxed out.  But how could Hanzo possibly ask without cluing the man in to who he really was.  After a few minutes of thought, and another few of stalling, he figured it out.

“Jesse?” Hanzo asked, feeling the man jerk suddenly in reply.  Had he woken the man up? It was rather easy to drift off thanks to their warm huddle.  It wouldn’t have been surprising if Jesse had dozed off. Hanzo felt he was close to doing the same.  But first, he wanted to talk, just a it longer.

“Mm?” McCree hummed in reply. “Was’ goin’ on, darlin’?”

Hanzo hesitated only a moment before he asked, aware how awkward the question was.  “Do you remember that fence back at the castle?”

“The one that almost killed you?” McCree asked with a snort.  “How could I ever forget it?”

“Yes, the one that looked alright from the outside but was falling apart upon closer inspection?” Hanzo asked.  “Do you think a fence in that shape could ever be repaired?”

“You woke me up to ask ‘bout an ol’ fence?” McCree asked, lips twitching into a tired, amused smile.

Hanzo felt himself grow warm.  “You said you wanted me to talk to you about anything.  I can cease, if you wish.”

No.  No, no, no.  Just lemme think-” McCree paused, giving the original questions some serious thought.  His plush lips pursed and his gaze tilted towards the ceiling as he rolled Hanzo’s question around in his head.  It was a long minute or two before he responded.

“A fence as rotten as that one, huh?  I personally don't ever see the point in trying to repair it.  It’s beyond damaged. There’s nothing left to even fix.” McCree replied, his gaze meeting Hanzo’s once more. “Think it would be for the best if it was just knocked down and tossed.  A new fence would be for the best, I would think. Throw away that rotten mess and move on to something better. Ain’t no one need a fence like that in their life.”

“Ah.” Was all Hanzo said in reply.  Jesse’s response made sense. There was nothing of substance left back in Hanamura.  He really didn't need a fence, or family, like that in his life.

But if he cut them all off, then what would he have left?  He would be alone, wandering the world with no one to go home to.  Just like… Hm.

“Jesse, what ever happened to Little Lost Bat?” Hanzo asked. “What happened after he lost his mother?”

“Well, lemme see.” Jesse paused, recalling the story. “He wandered around for a lil’ bit, lost and alone, and scared as hell, but eventually he found a new family, one that had lost their baby, one needed him as much as he needed them.  It may not have been the happilyest ever after, but he couldn’t ask for anything more than a warm home, a full belly, and a family that loved him just the way he was.” McCree finished.

“So Little Lost Bat wasn’t so lost any longer.  That’s wonderful. ” Hanzo mused. It was still a rather dark tale for a children’s bedtime story, but for him, it was a twisted sort of reassurance.  The family you were born to didn’t have claim on you forever. He was free to run, free to stumble into the unknown in search of something better, free to find... find... Find something else.  What it was, he didn’t know. He just hoped that, when he saw it, he would know it was his.

Did he deserve that sense of peace?  Did he think it existed? Hardly. But he had to lie and tell himself it was out there, didn’t he?  Did he? Was it better to believe in lies or to believe in nothing at all?

The bottom line was, there was hope.  Just a small glimmer, but hope nonetheless.  Probably nothing more fool’s gold, but he would take what little he could get.

Hanzo lay his head down once more, burying his face against McCree’s throat.  There was a lot for him to think about after their talk, but not all of it bad.  The conversation had gone a better direction then Hanzo could have ever imagined.

“Anything else you wanna get off your mind?” McCree asked quietly.  “I'm all ears, all the time, every time.”

Hanzo pondered a moment. “No.  Not now. What we have talked about is enough.”

“Some jabbering about a rotting fence and a storybook are enough?  And you thought my needs were too small.” McCree asked. “You sure that's it?”

“Mmhmm.  It is enough to pacify the anxieties, at least for the time being.” Hanzo replied. “Besides, your voice is so luxurious, it's putting me to sleep.  You can make even a story about rotten wood the most soothing thing in the world.”

“Oh, can I?  It that easy?” McCree was grinning.  Hanzo knew, despite not looking. He could tell by the man’s tone.  “Next time you'll have to tell me a lil’ bedtime story. I could use some help with getting some sleep m’self.”

“Perhaps, next time, I will.” Hanzo said, smile ticking at the corners of his unseen lips.  “And it will be one of the best damn stories you've ever heard.”

McCree affectionately rubbed Hanzo’s upper back with one hand, the other slipping under Hanzo’s chin to tilt his face up.  Their eyes met and Hanzo easily met Jesse’s stare, waiting for him to elaborate on what he wanted. All he got was a somewhat relieved-looking smile in return.  “The best, huh?” McCree asked cheekily. “There’s the wolf I know and love.”

_The_ **_wolf_ ** _he knows and love_ , the voice reminded Hanzo, _Okami, not Hanzo.  Not you._

But for tonight, Hanzo told the voice to shut up and, for once, it listened.  He wanted to enjoy what he had; a warm bed with a warmer man holding him close.  Tonight, he wanted to live in the now. Tomorrow, he would worry. Tomorrow, he’d wonder how much McCree wanted _him,_ truly, and not just the him he saw.

Tomorrow he would taint with fear.  Tonight was to be nothing more than unblemished bliss.  He would make sure of it.

Jesse had let his head fall back against the pillow, and his hand idly stroked up and down Hanzo’s back. Hanzo himself felt the wave of exhaustion starting to wash over him once more.

“Rest up, babydoll, we got a heck of a day tomorrow.” McCree said, sliding his hand north to thread his fingers through Hanzo's hair, trying to coax him to sleep.

A happy sigh escaped through Hanzo’s lips as McCree played with his hair.  This shouldn't have felt so nice. With warm arms wrapped tight and soft fingers petting his head, it was embarrassingly easy for Hanzo's eyes to fall shut and for him to fall asleep without another word.

Though he must have been asleep a while, it felt as if he had only just closed his eyes before a distant memory weaved its way into his mind.-

_“Shhh,” A young Genji said, slipping his way into Hanzo's room.  He carefully shut the door behind him, making sure to not make a sound._

_Barely sitting up, because sitting up still hurt, Hanzo nervously watched him walk closer.  “You're not supposed to be-” he paused. Genji’s soft frown told him why he was here. “You had a nightmare again, didn't you?”_

_“Mmmhmmm.  I don't like sleeping alone.” Genji confessed, padding his way to Hanzo's bed.  He slipped under Hanzo's blanket, laying right next to him. “When are you coming back?” he asked as pulled the blanket up to his chin._

_Hanzo didn't immediately respond.  The elders had talked amongst themselves when they believed eavesdropping ears were sleeping.  They had decided that Hanzo's isolation would be permanent; the room he lay recovering in would be his new room.  His new prison._

_Their reasoning was that once Hanzo recovered from the fracture, he would begin more frequent training, both in body and in mind.  He would have earlier days and later nights than Genji would, so they would move him so as to not disturb the younger’s sleep. This was being done on their mother's demand._

_He hated this windowless, wooden room.  He had been here some months already. Three perhaps?  Time moved oddly in this cage. It was near impossible to tell._

_Should he be the one to break it to Genji?  It shouldn't be his responsibility to, that should fall on those who decided this, but the longer Genji believed he would be coming back, the harder he would take it when he found out he wasn't._

_“Genji…”, he said slowly, stalling as he tried to find the right words.  “I don't believe you and I will be sharing a room again.”_

_“Why?” Genji asked, anxiously wiggling his body closer to Hanzo’s.  “You can come back. I'll stop talking all night. I'll stop! I won't climb into your bed anymore!  At least not every night. Please come back.”_

_“It's not my choice.” Hanzo clarified.  “The elders have decided that-”_

_“Just tell them NO.” Genji interrupted. “Just tell them that and come back.”_

_Hanzo frowned at his plea, wishing it was possible.  “It is not that easy.”_

_“It is.  I do it all the time.” Genji said, his voice quivering as he held back a sniffle. “Just keep getting louder and mom and dad will make them listen.  Maybe. Sometimes. Sometimes they do.”_

_Hanzo's heart broke further as a quiet sob slipped from Genji’s throat.  “It won't work. I'm not_ **_you_ ** _.” he said quietly. “They won't listen to me, no matter how I scream.  They never do.”_

_Genji buried his face into Hanzo’s loose shirt, pulling the fabric closer to him and further exposing his chest to the night air._

_Hanzo had been healing slowly since the fracture, and his chest was still unable to stand even the lightest touch of fabric.  The pulled fabric stung, but he didn’t care. For Genji’s pain was worse than his own._

_Genji had just had to suffer the pain of growing up too fast and all at once. Bit by bit, once again, all they could do was suffer with the decisions made for them by those that claimed they knew better than them, even though all they knew was nothing at all._

_It was best that he cry here, when it was just the two of them.  Hanzo wouldn't judge him for it, not like the elders would. Even though the news hurt, it was for the best. Here, he was allowed to cry and no reprimand would be given.  Hanzo was only hurting him to keep him safe in the end._

_For the longest time, Genji couldn't speak, gasping for air through the sobs as he clung to Hanzo's clothes.  All Hanzo could do was pat him on the back and silently reassure him that everything would be fine, though he had a feeling it wouldn't  Hanzo winced as Genji’s slim arm wrapped tight around his chest, but allowed him the hug._

_Eventually, Genji’s cries slowed, and he finally looked up at Hanzo with his teary eyes.  “Can I still see you? Can I still sleep in here with you?”_

_“They probably won't like you sleeping in here with me.” Hanzo told him, “They spoke of not wanting my new training schedule to bother you and keep you awake.”_

_“It won't.” Genji’s reply was as swift as a sparrow. “Tell them that.”_

_“I can't.”_

_“Why won't they listen?”_

_“Because they want to do things their way.”_

_“Their way is wrong.”_

_“You can't tell the elders they’re wrong, Genji.” Hanzo replied. “We must respect our elders.”_

_“Don't see why, if they don't respect us.” Genji’s lip stuck out, a sign he was thinking hard.  Too hard. That was a sign of danger to come._

_“Don't make trouble.” Hanzo cautioned.  “Don’t do anything stupid.”_

_“I could- If I do the training too, then you can't keep me up.” Genji said._

_“You're too young.  You are not to be trained yet. Don't bother asking.” Hanzo silently pleaded that his brother didn't press the issue.  He had heard talks that the training was to be rough. He didn't want Genji to suffer too. He would do what he must to protect him.  His was the older brother. He was supposed to keep Genji safe._

_“Why don't you go see the dragons?” Hanzo offered, nodding towards the cages against a nearby wall and hoping to use Genji’s fascination as a distraction.  “She wants to see you.”_

_“You're lying.”_

_“I'm not.” Hanzo answered honestly.  “I can hear her thoughts sometimes, when she wants me to.  She's lonely and in pain and could use the cheering up.”_

_“Just like you, yes?” Genji asked, not bothering to wait for an answer before he stood and approached the cages._

_Childlike wonder and curiosity must have been the only reason that Genji was so enthralled by the dragons and why they were so enthralled by him and his bravery.  The men that passed through, checking on Hanzo couldn’t bare to even look at the beast, let alone sit by and talk to them._

_They were still healing from the slice, and not yet whole.  Her insides were still visible, but not to the extent they had been initially.  She had mostly reformed, and was close to healing all the way, judging by how Hanzo was able to sit up, talk, and think, without the searing, blinding pain debilitating him. The halves were kept in separate cages, so there was no chance of her reforming back into one dragon.  She had no choice but to become two._

_“Have you named them?” Genji asked, settling down between the cages.  Before Hanzo had panicked when Genji slipped his small hand between the bars, but by now he knew that the dragons welcomed him and his soft touch and would never harm him of their own accord._

_The right half struggled to pull herself closer to him, the legs forming on her left only just nubs.  She butted her snout against his hand, pressing herself as close as she could to the bars._

_Hanzo hesitated in answering Genji’s question.  He did have NAMES that he was calling them, but he hadn't actually decided to name them that.  Besides she had a name, before they became each others, Hanzo just didn't know what it was._

_“I've been calling them Hidari and Migi.” Hanzo admitted quietly. “ Just to help me keep them straight “_

_“Left and Right?” Genji asked, straining to reach into both of their cages at the same time.  The dragons had settled against the bars, as close as they could, and Genji could just pet both of their snouts at the same time.  “All the time to sit here and think and you name them Left and Right?”_

_“It's- it's simple.  It helps me keep them straight.  I want to keep them straight and be able to identify them.  It would be rude to mix them up,” Hanzo argued, quickly adding, “And they haven't told me they don't like it.”_

_“They're your dragons, Hanzo, name them what you want.” Genji said with a toothy grin.  “That just leaves all of the cooler names for me and my dragon.”_

_“They are cool names.” Hanzo said with a frown._

_“They are.  I like them, I really do.  I mean it.” Genji agreed, affectionately cooing at the dragons.  As much as his dragon appreciated the attention, Hanzo could tell that she was too exhausted to tolerate it for long._

_“Genji, she says she adores you, but she is tired and needs her rest.” Hanzo told him._

_Genji gave each dragon an affectionate pet on the nose as he bid both halves good night.  He made his way back under Hanzo's blanket, wriggling in close._

_“You should go back to your bed.” Hanzo told him half-heartedly.  He didn't have it in him to kick his brother out, but he knew that there might be trouble if Genji was found in here._

_“I will.  Eventually.  Let me get warm.” Genji said, snuggling closer._

_In response to his stalling, Hanzo stuck his ice cold feet against Genji’s leg, causing him to yip in surprise.  Genji just wrapped his arms tighter around him, though he loosened his grip when he heard Hanzo hiss in pain._

_“Do you really think they won't let us sleep together anymore?” Genji asked._

_“They might. But I doubt it.  They don't listen.”_

_“They never do.” Genji agreed, laying his head down by Hanzo's.  “Have they been feeding you good food, Hanzo?”_

_“If you consider zosui good food after the millionth bowl.” Hanzo huffed, “they won't let me eat anything else.  I want real food. I swear I'll never eat another bowl of zosui as long as I live, great great grandmothers recipe or not.  I hate it and how it tastes and how tired it makes me.”_

_“Mother said that I could go to Rikimaru’s to eat tomorrow. “ he said slowly.  “I could say that I'm really hungry and get two bowls and that I want to eat at home and bring you some?” Genji tilted his slowly, waiting for Hanzo to respond.  “Do you want me to?”_

_“Not if you'll get in trouble.” Hanzo told him, trying to will his mouth to stop watering.  Rikimarus sounded so delicious, after months of eating the same stupid thing. But he didn't want to get his hopes up.  It was never good when he did._

_“I won't get in trouble.  I won’t,” Genji said with a shake of his head.  “I'll bring you some tomorrow and we can eat together in here together.  If you want it.”_

_“Please.” Hanzo said.  “I want it. Please. What do you want in return?”_

_“Nothing really-…”_

_He paused as footsteps grew louder down the hall.  Someone was coming by to check on him. Genji too realized what was happening, and clumsily attempted to hide under the blanket, the telltale bulge of his body obvious._

_A young guard opened the door, the soft creak of the door announcing the arrival.  Hanzo snapped his eyes shut, trying to convince the silhouette in the doorway that he was asleep and that no further inspection was needed.  His breath caught in his throat as the footsteps approached his bedside._

_“Young master?” A quiet voice said.  Much to Hanzo's relief, he knew this voice.  It was a young guard, one of the youngest on patrol, and one that Hanzo knew wouldn't sell him and his brother out._

_He cracked open an eye and made sure that he was right about who was in the room before he relaxed completely.  “What is it?” he asked. “Why must you wake me?”_

_“Apologies.  I didn't realize you were actually asleep.” the guard said sarcastically.  The guard crouched by the bedside, placing a cup of water by the bed. “I'm merely here for the usual check-up.  Have you been drinking?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Eating?”_

_“Unfortunately, yes.”_

_“Is your bed comfortable?”_

_“As comfortable as it can be for a mat on the floor.”_

_“Which means there's room for improvement.  Let me see what I can do.”_

_The guard stood and made his way over to a closet on the far side of the wall.  Extra pillows and blankets were stuffed up high on a shelf, out of Hanzo's reach.  They were kept up high to reduce the temptation of Hanzo attempting to retrieve them in his wounded state.  If he were older, then he would have easily been able to reach them, despite their attempts to hide them._

_Ironically, though, even once he was an adult, everything on the shelf was still out of reach._

_A pillow from the top shelf was pulled down and preemptively fluffed.  The guard walked back over to Hanzo and kneeled at his bedside. "May I?" the guard asked, hand at the ready to help guide the pillow under Hanzo's head._

_Hanzo gave a grunt of acknowledgement and tilted his head forward to give easier access.  The guard slipped a hand behind Hanzo's head and supported him while the pillow was easily swapped out for a new one._

_"There, that should feel nice and cool." the guard said, gently laying Hanzo's head back down.  The hand traveled around to Hanzo's forehead, and it checked the boy's temperature. "You fever’s gone.  Good. Are you comfortable otherwise?”_

_“Yes.  Thank you.”_

_“Good.  I will leave the other pillow here for your lumpy friend to use."  The guard replied, then dropping to a whisper. “I am patrolling until 5 am and the others will be occupied with with some meetings taking place in the morn.  I’ll come move him before the others think to look, and I’ll do my best to not wake either of you.”_

_Genji could stay the night?  They wouldn’t be together when they woke up, but they could spend the night together?  It had been so long since Hanzo had someone else spend the night with him. He hadn’t thought to want this, for it he had wanted it, then they would have taken the possibility away.  There was the always lingering question though._

_“...Why?” Hanzo couldn’t help but ask._

_“Because you and he have had a hard couple months, and if I can help you two have one good night together, I am more than happy to.” the guard said.  “I have plenty I could say about this whole situation and your family, but I won’t.”_

_Hanzo knew why.  “Because I’m their child and it’s not for me to understand.” he said.  That was the reason that they always gave. Every single time. He wasn’t to understand why they did what they did; it was just his job to do it._

_The guard’s brows raised and a sad smile ticked onto his lips.  “No,” he said, “it’s because you are their child and I think you have to understand too much already.  I doubt there’s much I could say that you yourself have never thought. You know why I cannot breathe those words.”_

_Understanding the implication, Hanzo sucked in a nervous breath.  He didn’t have to explain. The walls had ears. Somehow, someone always seemed to be listening, catching every word uttered that was louder than a whisper._

_Sometimes, Hanzo believed that the clan could read his mind.  They knew when he was thinking about things that he shouldn’t, like how angry he was with them for hurting him and his dragons, or how he knew that their mother despised him for some reason, or how he was tired of him and Genji being kept so far apart.  They knew when he was thinking bad thoughts. That is why he tried not to think of them at all. It was safer, and easier, not to think._

_“Who is visiting tomorrow?” Hanzo asked, changing the course of the conversation towards safer waters.  Would he be expected to make an appearance? He hoped not. He was so tired. But it would be best to know ahead of time._

_“The Kita clan from the north are here to curry favor, kiss boots, nothing more.” the guard said.  “And Mr. Hong and his wife, Yenay, are here to get reports on the newly established trade route here in Japan for their manufactured opium.  You shouldn’t be expected to attend either, but Yenay might stop by.”_

_Hanzo couldn’t help wrinkling his nose at the thought.  The lady was oddly kind, kind of odd, and wonderfully friendly, sometimes too much so, but she was so touchy.  She was a serial cheek pincher and Hanzo’s face was bound to be her next victim._

_“Oh, don’t be like that.  She can’t have children herself, so you and your brother are like the sons she’s always wanted.  She loves you and your brother like you’re her own children.” the guard said. “If she could smuggle you two away in her suitcase, I’m sure she would.  Regardless, she’s bound to bring you something nice, like she always does.”_

_“But she pinches my cheek and pats my head and touches my hand and, and-  I don’t understand why anyone would.” Hanzo said, quickly adding, “And I don’t like it.”_

_“Then tell Yenay that.  Politely. I’m sure she’ll understand.  Act grow up about it and she’ll listen.” the guard said softly, pausing for only a moment.  “She_ **_might_ ** _try to bring you a drink or something…  I’d rather you didn’t consume it. Opium may be a pain reliever, but perhaps it is not the best one for you, do you understand?  She cares about you and Genji but her motherly instincts are… a bit misguided at times.”_

_“I understand.” Hanzo said.  “I only hope the visit is short.  It takes so much energy to interact with people.”_

_“Is Genji tiring you?” the guard asked quickly.  “I can remove him, if that’s the case.”_

_“No, he’s not.  Genji’s not people.  He’s my brother.” Hanzo hastened to explain.  “Genji is Genji and I want him to stay.”_  
_  
_ “I understand, young master, completely.  Then stay he shall.” the guard replied, getting to a stand.  “I will return for him at the end of my shift. Enjoy your night, young masters.”

_The guard then left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.  Genji waited another two minutes before he dare move. Once he knew that the coast was clear, Genji poked his head out from under the blanket, meeting Hanzo’s tired gaze._

_“Do I need to shut up?” he asked.  “Am I talking too much? I can stop talking, if you want.  I don’t want to keep you up and make you tired. Do you want me quiet, Hanzo?  I can be. Really. Not a word. Quiet as a ninja. You won’t even know I’m here.” Genji rambled as he clung tighter to Hanzo._

_“I doubt that.” Hanzo replied, patting him on the head.  “No, you’re fine. I will tell you if I get tired.”_

_“You better.”_

_“Speaking of telling, you never did tell me what I have to do for the ramen.” Hanzo reminded him.  “What do you want?”_

_“It’s not much-”_

_“Just tell me.”_

_Genji slipped his bracelet off of his wrist.  The bracelet looked huge on his small arm, with big, dark beads stringed onto the strong cord.  He held the bracelet out for Hanzo to take, but Hanzo hesitated. Genji never removed the bracelet, always doing his best to keep it on his thin wrist. It had been a part of him since he had received it. Why would Genji want him to take it?_

_“Take it and keep it out of sight.” Genji explained. “That way I'll always have an excuse to visit you, to come see if I dropped it in here.” he paused.  “And it's something to remember me by.”_

_“Remember you?  Where are you going?” Hanzo teased, despite how his gut sank at hearing Genji’s explanation.  “You're just across the hall and my memory is not that bad.”_

_“I mean on nights you feel alone.  It's a part of me that I want you to have.  So I'm always with you.” Genji said. “Just think of the bracelet and there I shall be.”_

_Hanzo hesitated for only a brief moment before he finally accepted the bracelet.  The beads were awkwardly warm, retaining the heat from Genji’s body, but Hanzo pay it no mind.  The elastic wrapped more snugly around the elder brother's wrist, easily holding the bracelet in place._

_“I will keep it safe.” he promised, slipping it onto his own wrist.  “I promise._ _Now close your eyes and get some sleep.”_

_“Okay, okay, okay, I will.” Genji said, rolling over onto the pillow that had been laid out for him._

_His hand slipped back over, threading his fingers through his brother’s. “I love you, Hanzo.”_

_“I love you too, Genji.” Hanzo said, affectionately squeezing his fingers around Genji’s as he finally let his eyes drift shut._

_Genji was already falling asleep too, safe and comfortable with his brother once more by his side. "Forever?” he asked with a yawn._

_Hanzo wrapped an arm over Genji, pulling him close.  It might be the last night they had sleeping next to each other.  He wanted to remember it._ _“"Yes, always," he mumbled, already drifting off.  "Forever and ever-”_

Hanzo awoke slowly and gazed tiredly into the dark room. and found himself still wrapped tight in McCree’s arms.  The man was still asleep, which was unsurprising. The clock on the bedside table said that it was about three-thirty in the morning.  If that wasn’t excuse enough for Jesse to still be asleep, then the jet lag he must be suffering from was.

He needed to get up.  There was something that he needed to fetch.  There was something that he needed to make sure was safe.

It was struggle enough to get his tired arms under him, to push himself upright.  Having a prosthetic arm locked and keeping him in place meant that he might as well not even try.

“Jesse.” Hanzo’s whisper was harsh, trying to cut through the quiet snores and make his words reach McCree’s sleeping brain.  He tapped at the man’s shoulder, trying and failing to get his attention. After another brief, losing struggle to free himself, Hanzo tried the universal plea for release.  “Jesse, I need to pee.”

That did it.  Barely cracking an eye open, and with a tired mumble under his breath, McCree’s arm unhooked from Hanzo’s back.  Once Hanzo was free, he immediately got out of bed and stumbled over towards his bag. Opening it, he blindly felt around well-packed case, his fingers gliding along the soft felt liner.  

Where was it?  He had Genji’s bracelet.  He knew he did. It had to be in here.  It had been on his wrist the day he fled the clan, he knew it had been.  He remembered the rain dripping down the beads, the panic and relief he had felt when he thought he had lost it after a slip in some mud and realized he hadn’t.  The day after Genji’s death he had donned the bracelet, he would have never dared to remove it back then. It was in here. It had to be.

If only he could turn on the light, then he could find it.  But he didn’t want to wake McCree. He needed some rest and Hanzo didn’t want to explain what he had been looking for.  It would be selfish to flick on the light, despite how he needed it so.

After another unsuccessful minute of groping around in the darkness, there was an odd sensation trailing down his left arm.  Migi quietly emerged from the sleeve and slipped into the case, her lithe form and luminescent scales providing just the hint of illumination that Hanzo needed to sift through the case.  While Hidari would have rather they waited until morning, Migi understood why Hanzo needed to find the bracelet now.

He found the bracelet tucked securely in a corner of the case, hidden under a thick layer of felt.  Gingerly, he slipped his fingers through the loop, cautiously lifting the bracelet up, as if it were made of fragile glass..

He had forgotten that he even carried it with him.  There had come a point where he had become despondent enough to shun this undeserved gift and hide it out of sight and out of mind.  There had come a point where he had given up.

Now, he was ready to try again.  

...Was he allowed to?  

“ _Genji would want you to try again.  He believes in you, as do I._ ” Migi assured him.  “ _You’re allowed to miss him and to want to remember the good times._ ” she added, granting a permission Hanzo hadn’t even realized that he needed.  

Finally, Hanzo slipped his hand through the bracelet, the weighty beads ensuring that Hanzo would be reminded of the bracelet, and of what it meant to him.

_“Just think of the bracelet and there I shall be.”_

If only that were true.  If only Genji were here now.  

Oh, how he missed him dearly.  

Hanzo pressed his wrist against his face, letting the cool beads contrast against his warm skin. Would Genji be proud of what he saw?  Would someone in his family finally be proud of him? Why would he ever be?

Genji would understand how hard Hanzo was trying to change for the better, wouldn’t he?

Now that the bracelet was on his wrist, his anxieties quieted down and sleep called his name once more.  The chill of the night was sinking in and the warm bed silently beckoned him back, but he paused.

Did he deserve to return to such luxurious comfort?  He could just as easily set up on the floor, or at the chair by the table.  What had he done to deserve making such a fuss?

“ _Your cowboy will be disappointed if you’re not by his side in the morning._ ” Migi reminded him.  “ _Just as you were disappointed that morning when you awoke, and Genji had already been returned to his room.  You don’t wish to disappoint him, do you?_ ”

That decided it.  Here, it wasn’t a question of if he deserved it, because Jesse would say that he did, but rather that Jesse might take it personally if Hanzo set up camp for the night somewhere else.

Without a second thought Hanzo climbed back into bed, sliding under the covers.  His back faced McCree’s initially, but it wasn’t long before McCree turned over in his sleep and wrapped his lanky limbs around Hanzo’s body.  With the comforting warmth holding him close, and the bracelet once more on his wrist where it belonged, Hanzo found it easy to drift off once more.

Despite how the day had started, it had ended far better than expected.  Serious conversations had been had, reassurances given, a sense of purpose renewed, and, for the first time in forever, he had had a good dream of him and Genji.  Things seemed better now, clearer than they had before, and climbs into betterment didn’t seem so steep. It was an amazing feeling. Jesse was his someone, he was sure of it.

And with a man like Jesse by his side, tomorrow was going to be a good day, he was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's good to be back. =)
> 
> There'll be more action next time, I promise.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always super appreciated!
> 
> If you're on tumblr and want to share a link to this fic, you can find a post to share on the A03feed-McHanzo tumblr here:  
> https://ao3feed-mchanzo.tumblr.com/post/166344970994/silver-n-gold
> 
> BEAUTIFUL FIC ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:  
> http://ecchima.tumblr.com/post/169823061915/little-mchanzo-or-in-this-case-jokami


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